


(Usually) Served With a Smile

by pletzel, readfah_cwen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Gen, Happy Ending, Humor, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 13:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2470514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pletzel/pseuds/pletzel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/readfah_cwen/pseuds/readfah_cwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison Argent’s just your average Pre-Med student who’s always looking for a reason to keep on smiling. Being the dorky niece to the cool aunt she lives with is bad enough, let alone the fact her only friend is her hyperactive co-worker who serves coffee like he’s tending bar on Studio 54. All together her life is pretty average, and maybe average is enough for her -- that is, until a tornado of a tiny redhead and her argyle-wearing boyfriend become her most frequent customers. (Coffee shop AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Usually) Served With a Smile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MotherGoddamn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherGoddamn/gifts).



> This was cowritten as a birthday gift for [mothergoddamn](http://mothergoddamn.tumblr.com), who is the most dynamite gal around, and whom we love very much. ♥ And how else do you say _I love you_ in this modern age but write a coffee shop AU? So here it is, and a very Happy Birthday to our dear ankle!
> 
> (This is the first time either of us have dipped our not-as-manicured-as-Lydia's toes into the Teen Wolf Fandom. We would absolutely adore any comments, complaints, or even just to know someone enjoyed reading this.)
> 
> [Tumblr link](http://boldmistakes.tumblr.com/post/100268739601/usually-served-with-a-smile-allison-lydia-oneshot).

Allison Argent stared down at the ragged hem on the pocket of her maroon apron as the bell above the door chimed happily. _Smile, Allison,_ she told herself, looking up to see a college-aged man in an argyle sweater. _Your first customer! He might just be a great tipper_.

“Hi there!” Allison said to him, placing her hands on the counter. She bowed her head a little, not wanting to intimidate him. “What can I get you?”

The customer said nothing; Allison was unable to see his eyes, which were covered by Ray-Bans, so she couldn’t exactly gauge much about him. He looked up, appearing to scan the specials board to the side of the counter. “What’s the most expensive thing on the menu?”

“Uh ...” Allison blinked, watching the customer scratch at the buzzed hair behind his ear. “I’m new here. I could ask my boss?”

“Yeah, whatever. Can you ask him to make the drinks as well?”

Removing her hands from the counter, Allison noticed her wrists were a little sore from the force of her grip. Her first customer was clearly one that felt he was entitled, and always right. Her last boss, as well as the rest of corporate middle-class America, had told her that this was the correct approach.

Her current boss? Derek Hale? Had not told her _anything_. He’d just handed her an apron which was two sizes too small, and told her that _Stilinski_ would show her the ropes. Stilinski, as she soon discovered, was hardly a font of knowledge. As it stood, Derek might or might not be in the back office, where he might or might not be taking a nap.

“Come on!” Her customer drummed his fingers on the counter. “It’s not like they pay you by the hour for this minimum wage shit stack.”

“Well. _Sir_. I’m told our Palazzo is ...”

“Told? I’m paying good money, here. I’m not about to have a third grade flunk out here mix up milk and creamer.”

“We don’t _have_ creamer,” Allison pointed out, and the guy turned a little, showing off his cheekbones which looked like they were purposefully chiselled by a very talented sculptor, and it clicked. She’d seen this guy on campus; he’d turned up to her Organic Chemistry class, and spent it throwing spitballs at the back of her head.

“Excuse me?” The guy turned back. He reached into his pocket, and tapped his credit card on the counter. “Did you suddenly become competent at your job? I don’t need to hear another word from you other than ‘Your order’s ready, sir.’ Now get me Derek.”

Derek. _Oh crap_. This douche knew her boss, or was at least on first-name terms with her boss, which was honestly quite a lot more than she was. Next in the queue, a guy with overly-gelled hair and oddly-straight eyebrows rolled his eyes. Allison gave him a smile. At least she wasn’t the only one who found Argyle Guy ridiculous. Alison turned around before she rolled her eyes and strolled into the back room, her exhale audible before she spoke.

“I am really sorry, but there’s a man at the counter asking for you. I offered to make him a drink, but he personally requested you make one.”

Derek put down his book and sighed. “Right. And did he ask for the most expensive thing on the menu?”

Nodding, Allison sat down and smiled at Derek. “I’m also due for a break, so ...”

“Jackson again.” Derek bared his teeth a little. “He’s our best customer.”

“He doesn’t really give me that ‘good tipper’ vibe,” Allison said.

“He doesn’t really look at his credit card bills. Stiles has been charging him what he calls a ‘douche tax’ since he started, and he hasn't noticed a thing. I’ll handle his drink order.” Derek paused. “You’re not due a break, though. You’ve been here four hours and you haven’t even made a drink yet. I know you don’t _like_ this job, but shut up and help.”

Allison nodded. That seemed fair. She briefly wondered how Derek knew that considering he’d been cooped up in the back room since the beginning of her shift reading -- she shifted her eyes to the left -- _The Book Thief_ of all things. She walked back out and hummed some Marina and the Diamonds in her head to cancel out whatever customer-mollifying trash Derek was saying to Jackson as he reached for the organic soy milk.

Suddenly, she noticed the other customer in the queue. Allison had assumed he was with Derek. He must have been waiting for a good ten minutes and was half-hidden by the cake display. He peered around the edge, a little like a puppy awaiting a snausage and a pat on the head. The moment Allison opened her mouth and said, “Can ...” he made a weird whimper not unlike said puppy, and tore out of the shop.

“Was it something I said? Or _didn’t_ say?”

Shrugging, Allison put it down to a case of the caffeine jitters. She maybe shouldn’t have set out the free samples of dark chocolate-covered coffee beans on the counter. At a loss of pretty much anything else to do, she grabbed a cloth and began to wipe down the countertop. Looking to her left and right, she saw Derek had retreated into the back room again so pulled out her phone. She used her camera to check for any blemishes on her face. Huh. No warts; no horns. Still plain old, pale old Allison.

“Ladies is that way.”

“Augh!” Allison shrieked, phone still in hand. She clutched her other hand to her pounding chest and turned around to see her co-worker. God knows where he’d been all day. He shrugged one shoulder and was on his tiptoes, while pouring milk foam between two latte cups from above his head.

“So. What was it you did, or did not say?” Stiles said, eyes still on his latte reenactment of _Cocktail_. “Judging by your usual attitude, I’m going with  _did not_.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just had a customer who was a bit strange.”

Stiles set down the cups, and picked up a third, tossing it between his hands. “Are we talking Salad Fingers strange, or likes-mayonnaise-on-curly-fries strange?”

“I’m ... not quite sure.” Allison folded her dishcloth and set it back in the sink, wiping her hands on her apron. “He was behind,” she lowered her voice, gesturing to where the Argyle Guy from earlier sat on his own, glowering at his iPad. “ _Him_. I didn’t say a single word, and the customer behind that guy just ran out the store.”

“Maybe he needed to barf?”

“I don’t think so. He had pretty good colour in his cheeks. Sort of looked like a puppy trying to run out of its crate after needing a--”

“Mm. What did he look like?”

“Creep, much?” Allison shook her head; it was no secret to anyone that Stiles’ sexuality was as fluid as the tides. “He had really dark hair. Tanned skin. Hair like a helmet. Oh! And he was carrying a hockey stick with a net on the end.”

Stiles snorted into his fist, promptly dropping his cup on the floor.

“Something funny?” Allison said, hand on hips.

“Of _course_ you’d be his type! You can compare jawlines!”

“Huh?”

“You just made acquaintance with my best friend, Scott.” He turned to Allison, and his eyes widened as he swept his arm across the counter, then clicked his fingers at her. “Beacon Hills’ answer to Don Draper.”

Allison stifled a laugh into her fist, and then stood bolt upright as the back office door opened with a creak and Derek sort of sauntered over, book still in hand.

“Ah, boss man.” Stiles took a bow. “Anyone ever told you, you walk like a Sim?”

Derek’s expression barely moved as he raised one large triangle of his dark brow. “That’s coming out of your paycheck, Stilinski,” he said, as he patted the pocket of Stiles’ apron before reaching inside, extracting a cursory amount of bills, and stuffing them into the (no-longer-empty) tip jar.

“Au contraire, mon frere,” Stiles said, reaching for a coffee stirrer and twirling it like a baton. “You see, those were yesterday’s tips. I haven’t made a cent in tips today. So technically, there’s nothing from which it can come out.”

“Fine,” Derek said, or more accurately grunted. “Make me as espresso, then.”

“Say please? Pretty please? WIth a cherry on top?”

Derek remained silent as Stiles began to pout. Derek looked to Allison, shook his head, then walked into the back room again, muttering something inaudible.

“Th-th-that’s all, folks! Emo Batman has retreated to his Batcave.” He tossed his stirrer in the sink. “Suppose I’d better follow through on that. God knows, he’s probably on his period or something.”

Allison put the organic soy milk back in the chiller. “I just can’t see why he’s in such a bad mood all the time. Especially when you’re so delightful to him.”

“Tough love,” Stiles said, then poked Allison gently on her shoulder with a fresh coffee stirrer. “So ... you ever tried putting pop rocks in a peppermint frappé?”

“Can’t say I have. Have you ever tried not mixing pop culture references?”

Stiles shrugged. “I like to mess with the classics.”

“They’re called “classics” for a reason,” Allison said, but she smiled at him as she watched him click his fingers together like he was playing imaginary castanets. Between her hyperactive colleague and her hands-off boss, The Daily Grind might not be such a grind after all. It would be much less of a grind if she could actually grind customers like Jackson until they disappeared from the fabric of society, but her first shift hadn’t been anywhere near as bad as every single customers from hell website she’d found on Google had made it out to be.   

\--

Of course, it had never been Allison’s goal in life to work in a coffee shop. Being a barista had never had a romantic allure like it had for some of her high school friends, who’d talked about the _dreamy guys_ , and the free Java. The thing was, her aunt Kate worked freelance as a private investigator. After moving in with Kate, money had been something of a sticking point. Kate had always been more like an older sister, and only wanted a minimal contribution for bills, but as she was so close to her aunt she wanted to help them keep their heads above water. Hobbies were the Argent family’s way of relieving stress, and they didn’t come cheap.

The solution came to her during her first day of classes. The guy who soon introduced himself as Stiles immediately turned his chair backwards while they were waiting for the professor to show up, and started to complain about how his _dark yet dreamy douchebag_ of a boss made his coffee shop's turnover rate higher than a George R.R. Martin novel and a J.K. Rowling novel combined.

“Oh?” Allison tried not to sound too desperate. “I’m looking for a job.”

“Do you have any experience with coffee? Making, drinking, throwing it from a third floor window?”

“Uh ...”

“Turn up tomorrow morning at six.”

“ _You’re_ offering me a job?” Allison laughed. “Are you responsible for the hiring?”

Stiles grinned. “Nope.” He was the sort of guy who could never look malfeasant; in fact, he almost always looked like he was pouting after a lost dog. It was hard to dislike him, irrespective of how scattered he seemed. “Turn up, grab an apron from the back room, and get to work. My boss? Will not notice a thing.”

“But I’ve never made coffee before,” Allison pointed out. “I don’t even _drink_ it.”

“Then, sweet Allison, you’ll fit in like a puzzle piece because nobody cares about coffee when they go to The Grind.” He gestured to the other side of the classroom where a guy with defined cheekbones and a buzzcut was writing some graffiti on the desk. “It’s a hangout for dumb jocks to splash their cash on expensive Java while desperately searching for something semi-legible on OPPapers dot com.”

Allison shook her head. “We have dumb jocks studying Intro to Biochem?”

“It’s a prerequisite for nursing.” Stiles pointed to his chest. “Dumb wannabe jocks have to study it, too.”

“That ...” Allison looked at the guy again, who was wadding up some paper and chewing it in his mouth. “That major. It ... doesn’t seem like a natural fit for him.”

Stiles nodded. “It couldn’t be less natural. Lucky me here’s stuck doing clinicals on the ortho-geriatrics floor with him, and he _hates_ it. The sights, the smells, the early mornings, the endless crowds of old folks who have to choose their diabetes meds over an argyle sweater they found on _Mr. Porter_ ... but there is a bonus in the gender balance.”

“So he’s choosing a physically and emotionally demanding program to pick up _girls_?” Allison hissed.

“Yup,” Stiles said. “And also to show his current girl he has a sensitive side. If he wasn’t such a douche, he’d kinda be my hero.”

Allison would have replied to that, but the professor entered the class, and she sat up attentively, highlighter pens at the ready. This didn’t have the academic rigor and beautiful scenery of her old college, but it was time for a new start, and she was going to make the best of things here.

\--

As the semester progressed, Allison warmed considerably to Stiles. She’d never really had a close friend before as she’d moved around so much. Stiles made work -- sort of fun, really. If you measured his words, he literally would talk a mile a minute, but this just made him proficient at repeating back complex orders which she’d try her best to make with the scant training she had. When Stiles was bored (which tended to be every waking minute of the shift) he’d make coffee cocktails. The rosewater almond lattes weren’t actually as bad as they sounded.

(They weren’t particularly good, either.)

So, yeah. Allison hated coffee. Anyone who saw her facial expressions after she tried some would attest to that, no matter how much sugar, cream, or schnapps Stiles added. But, she’d made a solid friend in Beacon Hills, without a shred of sexual tension to ruin its easy, breezy foundations.

\--

Allison was rubbing her hands together during a shift on a bitterly cold October morning. Midterms were in full swing, and she realized that her first few weeks here had been the eye of the storm, so to speak. She heard the bell ping, and sprung to attention, putting on her well-practiced showface. Her eyes were immediately drawn to a petite redhead with the sort of make-up which looked classy on her but would have looked overdone on anyone else. The redhead was walking just in front of Jackson, who Allison wisely had learned to hand over to Derek without even making eye contact.

“Look, Stiles. It's our favourite customer. I'll just go get Der --” she started to say.

“Oh no. No. You are not letting him take this one from me.”

“Sure,” Allison laughed. “He probably won’t let you take anything from him, though.”

“I know just what he’ll want. A cup of the Kona, and one of our Billionaire Brownies, no doubt.”

“That predictable, huh?” Allison rolled her eyes. “Good luck with that one.”

“They’re brownielicious. And you’re brownievicious, so leave it to me.”

Allison stood aside, and looked around the shop. There was nobody else looking like they might want an extra drink, so she did her usual action of wiping down the counter, lest Derek stealthily emerge from the back room and accuse her of slacking off. She noticed Jackson was tapping his credit card on the counter, and squinted, hating the fact that her height made her visible when she really didn’t want to be. The redhead next to Jackson caught her eye immediately. The girl’s leather jacket was gorgeous, and beyond appropriate for the blustery fall weather. It was buttery-soft-looking, the colour of a fallen leaf. It made Allison feel even more insecure about the brown pleather one she had, claiming it wasn’t leather for ethical reasons rather than the fact all she could afford were cheap knock-offs. Sunglasses were perched on top of what were most likely deliberately messy, cinnamon-coloured curls.

If Stiles thought Jackson was a douche -- Stiles had said Jackson _redefined_ the definition of the word douche -- then why was he volunteering to make the guy’s drinks order?

“Lydia!” Stiles said, even louder than his usual customer-greeting bellow. “Great to see you! What can I get you, on the house!”

 _Oh_. That was why. Stiles was even less subtle than his friend Scott.

Lydia immediately pulled up the vee-shaped neckline of her bodycon turquoise dress. “Does that offer extend to Jackson?”

“Of course!” Stiles looked down at her chest, then up at her eyes. "Anything for my favourite customer. Anything at all."  

“Great!” Lydia smiled a Hollywood smile, and flicked her hair over her shoulder. “You can make Jackson his usual, and I’ll go and say hello to your colleague over there.”

Allison gulped as the girl walked over to her side of the counter. From the clacks she made on the wooden floor, Allison supposed Lydia was wearing a rather high pair of heels, but her head barely reached Allison’s chin. In spite of this, she certainly made her presence known. Glancing over to Stiles for support, Allison saw he wasn't taking Jackson's drinks order, but was engaged in eye warfare instead.

“Hi there,” said Lydia. As crisp as she sounded, it didn’t appear there was much bite behind her bark. “Could you make me an Earl Grey tea?”

“Oh, you mean an Earl Grey _chai_?” Allison asked, trying to think off-hand if she could pull one off without Stiles’ assistance.

Lydia frowned. “I said tea, didn’t I?”

“Thank god,” Allison said. “Sorry to be the drinks police, but we don’t normally have customers whose drinks orders are so straightforward. Sure. I can do that for you.”

Lydia used her thumb to gesture to where Stiles and Jackson were in some sort of face-off. “Sometimes I feel a little bit ... stressed. Can’t a girl just sit down with her studies and cradle something warm and comforting? This world can be far too hectic, sometimes.”

Allison fetched a tray. “You go to Beacon, too?”

“No. You would have noticed me around,” Lydia said, grinning. “I go to Westlake. Go Wildcats!”

 _Good school_ , Allison thought, thinking briefly that Lydia would never be caught dead wearing a burgundy apron and Converse behind a counter. “Cool. What do you study?” she said, swirling some hot water in the teapot to warm it. It was more to stall some time as she actually relished a little conversation on a long shift, although the thought of vindicating her barista skills after Jackson’s criticism didn’t go amiss.

Lydia twirled a curl around her fingers. “Guess!”

“Hm.” Allison stirred the pot, and closed the lid, wishing the calming aroma of bergamot was something she could stand to drink. “Business Management?”

“Way boring.”

“Communications?”

“Please. I could do that with my eyes closed and hands tied.”

Allison searched her brain, then remembered what Jackson was studying. _Something_ had to have brought these two together. “Nursing?”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Ew, gross. Who’d want to do _that_?”

Clearly, Lydia was not the people person she had seemed, and Allison’s first impressions hadn’t really been on point. “Chemistry?”

“Bingo!” Lydia beamed, and it was infectious. “Got it in four. Remind me never to play 20 questions with you,” she said, breezy and light. “What about you? What do you do when you’re not serving badly-made caffeinated beverages to entitled college kids?”

Looking down at the scuffed toes of her Converse, Allison felt small all of a sudden, despite the height advantage. “Uh, Pre-Med,” she said, then flicked her head towards Stiles who busying himself by working, for once. “We share quite a few classes with the nursing program.“

“Why be a doctor?” Lydia said.

“I want to help people,” Allison said. “I know, it’s the biggest cliché in the book, but I just can’t imagine working in any field other than healthcare. Neither can Stiles over there. Despite his fear of needles.”

Lydia didn’t spare a glance at Stiles, gaze remaining fixed on Allison. “Lots of jobs help people. What’s so special about hacking bodies open?”

“I didn’t say it was special.”

“Oh please,” Lydia snorted. “You have entitled med student all over your face and -- oh, wait. No! That’s just your eyeshadow. MAC?”

“I really don’t know,” Allison muttered. “It’s my aunt’s. I guess I’m not very girly.”

“Oh my goodness,” Lydia said. “You should come over. You’d look gorgeous if you had something which blended into a smokey eye.”

Allison took in Lydia’s eyes, which were highlighted with a dark plum eyeliner, each long lash dark and defined without a hint of a clump. “Sounds like you’re pretty into that sort of thing.”

“It’s important to look good, but I’m not entirely altruistic. I run my own cosmetics company, but it’s no big. It’s just a small bedroom enterprise that lets me play with chemicals, and it’s so much fun watching the shades I’ve worked on take someone from dreary to drab. I’m sure you have hobbies, too.”

“I’m more active, really. It’s hard to look cute when you’re tumbling on a mat or stringing a bow in the woods, but it helps me feel strong, and capable. I feel better about myself when I know I’m strong enough to help people. I don’t know if you get that at all?”

Just like that, Lydia’s smile was wiped from her face, and she rolled her eyes. “Why bother,” she said, and snapped her fingers in Jackson’s direction. “I mean, look around you. They’re not going to help themselves.” She shook her head. “I’ll take that to-go, please.”

Allison looked down at her tray, and poured the tea into a to-go cup, reaching for the milk. “Sure. That’ll be three dollars twenty, then.”

“You don’t serve milk with Earl Grey,” Lydia said. “Jackson was right. They really don’t train the cattle in this place. Everyone knows it’s taken black. With lemon.”

“I am so sorry,” Allison yanked the milk away, but a few drops fell in, colouring the drink a coppery brown. “My aunt always drinks it with milk, and she’s European. Well, I mean, French. But I’ll just take that, and make you --”

No sooner had Allison begun to re-warm the teapot, she was startled by Jackson, who clearly hadn’t received enough caffeine in his Kona judging by the bulging eyes he was displaying. His eyes were slit-like, and had Allison not been in a public place, she might have been a little frightened.

“Did you mess up my drinks order?” Jackson slammed his fist down on the counter. “ _Again_? And didn't Stilinski say he'd comp these?”

“What?” Allison shook her head. “No. Nothing’s a 'mess up', and I'm not _comping_ these because it's not your order. Lydia didn’t mention how she wanted her tea, so I --”

“You’re the barista,” Jackson said. “It’s not the customer’s job to ask for what they want.”

Lydia offered Allison a tiny smile before turning to Jackson. “No harm was done.”

Deciding that going the extra mile wasn’t on today’s specials board, Allison forgot about the tea pot and simply put the used bag in a to-go cup, pressed it down with the back of a spoon a couple of times, and poured hot water on top before sliding it over. “On the house,” she said, quietly. “I’m afraid we don’t have any sliced lemon. I’ll see to it that we do, next time.”

“Whatever.” Jackson gestured to Stiles. “Make me another Kona?”

Stiles flapped his hands about. “Ta- _dah_! There. You’re a Kona, Jackson. Kona you get out of my sight, now?”

“That’s it. Seriously, Stilinski! FIrst you turn up to practice and have the _audacity_ to try out for my lacrosse team, and now you go around flirting with my girl and being such a smartass? You’re too damn stupid to be a smartass.”

“And you have the audacity to say that word. Do you even know what it means?”

“Yes, Stilinski,” Jackson said with a sniff, as Lydia took a sip of her drink and scrunched up her nose a little. “Unlike you, I’ve picked up a book or two in my time.”

Stiles fell back against the counter, eyes wide, hand clutching at his apron. “A book? A whole book? Maybe even two? Someone name a library after this guy! Wit-no-more Public Library!”

Jackson punched his fist on the counter again. “My last name is _Whittemore_.”

“Well, evidently someone made a big mistake there.” Stiles leaned forward, head almost touching Jackson’s chest. “And I don’t think it’s me. Names are supposed to mean something, right?”

“And what does yours mean? Stiles Stilinski. ‘Hi, my parents have been giving up on me since the day I was born’.”

Immediately, Stiles reached for the bowl of chocolate-covered coffee beans on the counter and popped a handful into his mouth as he continued his tirade. “And here,” he said, waving his hand at Jackson. “We have Doucheus Maximus, in his natural habitat. A prime example of someone projecting their own issues onto you.”

Throughout the exchange, Allison had stood there rather passively. Her eyes had flitted to Lydia enough times to know that she looked bored rather than personally affronted by this insult on her boyfriend’s character. Possibly, Allison rationalised, she knew deep down that there was some truth behind Stiles’ sarcasm but carried on dating the moneyed jock because status was more important to her than anything else. _Huh_. Her psych professor would be pretty proud of her perspicacity.

“Are you actually going to make me my Kona?” Jackson asked, his face going through some very bizarre movements.

“Hm.” Stiles swallowed his mouthful of food, and turned back towards Jackson. “No.”

Jackson reached into his pocket and waved his phone at Stiles. “No worries. I’ll just text your boss.”

“Yeah, I’m calling your bluff on that one,” Stiles said, laughing, even while Jackson looked to be typing something on his phone. “No, really. Derek doesn’t actually have a phone.”

“Is that true?” Allison grinned at him. “He doesn’t?”

“Mm. Tall, dark _and_ mysterious,” Lydia said, flicking her hair behind her shoulder. “That makes a difference from most of the boys around here.”

Jackson made an ugly snort. “Boys? He’s, like, _forty_.”

“If by _mysterious_ you mean restraining orders for crawling through people’s windows at night,” Stiles said, fluttering his eyelashes at Lydia. “Now, me, I like to respect a lady’s boundaries.”

“Just like your friend Scott,” Jackson said. “Isn’t that right, Allison? He seems to like stalking.” He flipped off Stiles, and placed his arm around Lydia. “Come on, babe. Let’s go _stalking_ elsewhere.”

Allison slumped over the counter. The slurs were exhausting, if not somewhat more creative than anything she could come up with. She’d always been more of a lover than a fighter, in spite of her talents with bows and arrows. As Lydia walked out, she looked over her shoulder and give Allison a small, tight-lipped smile.

“She’ll come round,” Stiles said, whistling through his teeth. “They always come around.”

“Hm?” Allison said, wondering whether patting him on the shoulder was apropos. “Great. After all that, she left her to-go cup here and didn’t even get a drink,” Allison muttered.

“She doesn’t even know my _name_ ,” Stiles said with a whine, slumping over the counter. “She doesn’t even know that I’m the lab partner Jackson calls _Dildo_.” Sighing, he turned around, forcing a grin and clapping his hands together. “So anyway. Do you think Sriracha is hot?”

“It’s chilli sauce.” Allison furrowed her brow. “Of course it’s hot.”

“No. I mean hot, hot. Trendy! On point!” Stiles stretched out the syllables. “Awe---some.”

“I guess?” Allison said. She patted Stiles’ shoulder, and quickly snatched back her hand from the threadbare, clammy fabric of his well-worn shirt. “I think you’ve got spicy and red on the brain. Your program is predominantly women. Single, _stressed_ , women. They’re too busy to think about romance, let alone do it. It’s fine to have a crush, but Lydia is not the only fish in the sea.”

Stiles poked her tongue out at her. “That’s a bunch of crap. Lydia’s not just the only fish. Lydia ate all the other fish, and spat them out.”

“I didn’t like her,” Allison said. “She’s ignorant and a know-it-all at the same time.”

“See?” Stiles reached for the cup Lydia had discarded and tore of the lid, wrinkling his nose as he took a deep sniff of the liquid within. “We have _so much_ in common. You can’t deny the mutuality.”

“I’m not saying you should forget her completely,” Allison said. “Just cast the net a little wider.”

“My net is very happy with its catch,” he snapped back. “My net is making all the other fishermen reconsider braving the incoming Storm Jackson to taste some of Lydia’s sweet --”

“Please don’t say tuna.”

“What?” Stiles took a sip of the discarded drink and reached across for the sugar pourer. “Ew. Come on, aren’t you a girl _and_ Pre-Med?” He visibly shuddered; whether it was at the tea or at Allison’s words, she wasn’t quite sure. “You can’t say these things!”

“Well _you_ can’t compare girls to fish.”

“You did it first!” Stiles protested, staring down Allison like _she_ was the weird one. “Me, I’d compare Lydia to a fox. Or a bird, like a, a -- phoenix. Majestic and wise, and occasionally they catch on fire, because she’s that fiery redhead, but she’s so smart, too, and ...”

Looking at the clock, Allison realised she only had an hour left of her shift. She wanted to spend that hour getting some tips and honing her drinks-making skills, not hearing about her new friend’s crush which was doomed before it had even begun. Judging by Jackson’s demeanour, she was a little worried. Allison knew which one would win in a physical fight, even if Jackson did value his facial features too much to do the dirty work himself. Shrugging one shoulder, she reached for the Earl Grey that Lydia had left behind and took a large swig before dashing over to the sink and spitting it out.

"Peh!" Allison scrunched up her nose. "Did I seriously just give that to a paying customer?"

Stiles grinned at her. "Maybe the Beauty and the Beast had a point?"

Jackson was such a douche he made Macklemore look like a nice guy, but he was right about one thing: it really wasn’t _that_ hard to add boiling water to a bag of dried herbs. This damn job still managed to confuse and baffle her. Just like Lydia had confused and baffled her. Clearly there was something in the water in Beacon Hills, because it was one of the first times Allison had felt confused and baffled in her life.

\--

What wasn’t confusing and baffling to Allison was the fact that, until Sunday when she was working another shift, she had absolutely no plans for her weekend. That was the natural order of things; she just didn't seem to get the invites to the wild parties that the rest of her classes gossiped about on Monday morning, and she didn't honestly mind all that much anyway. After a quick dinner of canned soup, she took to her room to study. During a quick study break to peruse ArcheryTalk, she heard a knock at her door, barely audible over the music playing through her outer-ear headphones. There was only one person it could be. Sure enough, the door opened and her aunt came in, clutching a mug in her hand.

“Oh,” Allison said, taking off her headphones. “It’s you.”

“Hi, my favourite niece! It’s nice to see you too!” Kate walked over, placing her mug down on Allison’s desk, putting her hands on the back of the chair. “College keeping you busy?”

“Not exactly,” Allison said. “In fact, your favourite niece just completely aced her mid-terms.”

“Why the long face, then?”

Allison leaned her head back a little, smiling as her aunt gave the crown of her head a quick scrunch before pulling away. She closed the lid of her laptop, and placed her hands on the arm of the chair, swivelling it around until she was face to face with her aunt.

“Is it about a boy?” Kate reached for the mug and took a large sip.

“No.” Allison shook her head. “It’s about school. I guess I’m just not settling in as quickly as I thought I would. I only really have one friend, and I get the impression he’d be friends with anyone who didn’t stand between him and his unattainable crushes.”

Walking over, Kate placed her hand on Allison’s shoulder. “Of course it’s not about a boy. It’s _never_ about a boy. Don’t you meet anyone at The Grind? God knows, you’re working enough shifts there.” She shook her head, walking over to the full-length mirror. “I’d come in more often, but that boss of yours? No thank you.”

Shrugging, Allison felt much like a petulant younger sister. There wasn’t much more than ten years between the two of them; she’d been much younger than Allison’s mom had been, with messy curls a shade lighter than Allison's and something of a Bohemian dress sense as opposed to her mom’s slicked-back pixie crop and dark, almost severe dress sense. Both women had been very important in her life, for different reasons; it was no surprise to Allison that she’d settled somewhere between the two in both looks and personality.

“Have you ever looked at yourself like this?” Kate said, not cruelly, posing herself in the mirror. “Other people look at you and they see this frightened little girl who looks like she’d run crying in the corner the moment someone said _boo_. Me? What I see is a vibrant, beautiful young woman. Allison, you said you wanted to settle in? They don’t know your history. Think of this as a fresh start.”

Shaking her head, Allison sighed. “Yes, because San Francisco worked out so well.”

“This is different. This is your chance to be anyone you want to be. To _do_ anything you want to do.” She turned around, raising an eyebrow. “Well. Within reason. You’re not shooting a porno in my garage.”

“What I _want_ is to get a new crossbow.” Allison huffed. "Stupid money."

“Sweetie?” Kate’s eyes, which were one of the only reminders Allison now had of her mom, looked softly at her. “If you work hard at this, if you let them see the person I see? You’ll have that ugly apron pocket stuffed full of so many bills you’ll be able to get yourself to the shoot out in Redding next year.”

“How did you know I was --”

Kate smirked. “You might want to delete your history after using _my_ laptop.”

Allison winced, briefly thinking of what else might of been in her browser history, although she was pretty sure it wasn’t much more than several Pinterest pages on repurposing old furniture, and some YouTube videos of Arcade Fire performances. Really, her life was even more dull than her fun-loving aunt suspected. She thought of Lydia. She was willing to bet Lydia wasn’t spending her Friday night arguing about whether _The Hunger Games_ was detrimental, or beneficial, to the perceptions of women in her chosen sport.

“I’ll remember that,” Allison said. “You seem in a good mood. What’s in that mug. Wine?”

“Yep! Want to indulge in a little rebellion? It tastes better from a mug than a box.”

Shaking her head, Allison smiled. “There’s no fun in underage drinking when your aunt’s an enabler.”

Kate tipped her mug up in a sort-of-toast. “See? That’s the smile that’ll go around breaking hearts.” She walked towards Allison’s door, one hand on the handle. “Just remember this, my favourite niece. As long as you’re smiling, they can’t hurt you.”

\--

On the morning of her next shift, Allison awoke feeling as chipper as the small brunette girl from Glee. After an invigorating jog around the lake at hours in the morning that were so early her aunt would refuse to acknowledge they existed, Allison showered and decided that perhaps Kate was right. She needed to be the person she wanted to be, not the person she was.

After her shower, she raided her aunt’s side of the bathroom cabinet and used some of her expensive leave-in conditioner, paying extra attention while she blow-dried her hair with the weird diffuser thing her aunt swore by clipped on the end. She ran some serum through her curls, deciding she’d keep them loose for a change rather than tying them up in a messy ponytail. Perhaps it wasn’t the most appropriate look when you bore food hygiene in mind, but she’d been working at The Grind long enough to know that Derek didn’t know, nor care, about any of that.

 _As long as you’re smiling_ , she thought, as she walked briskly to the shop, _they can’t hurt you_.

She wasn’t a key-holder yet, so jogged up and down on the spot for several minutes awaiting Stiles who arrived, walking at a leisurely pace although his cheeks were pink and seemed to imply he’d been in somewhat  of a rush about something, at some point. By the time he greeted her, she was sure her nose was turning purple from the cold.

“Geez, Allison.” Stiles grinned at her. “I know we get on, but I didn’t realise my company was so electrifying.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Go greased lightnin’ you’re burnin’ up the quarter mile,” he said, making ridiculous arm movements. “My ride’s not a pussy wagon, but I’m happy to give you a lift into work. I know it’s difficult for an independent woman like you, but you only have to ask.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“Thanks, but I really think you should check --”

Allison smiled. She smiled so hard she thought her eyeballs might shatter. “Are you going to sing from 70s musicals, or are you going to unlock the door?”

Extracting the ring of keys from his jeans pocket, Stiles began to do just that. Allison really wasn’t sure what qualification Stiles held to be key-holder at the place, considering he’d dropped his own keys down the drain, and often forgot to rebutton his fly after using the bathroom. Then again, ascertaining Allison’s responsibility for the task would have required talking to her, which was something Derek seemed resolutely unwilling to do.

“So, Elaine. Whaddaya think of me? Am I ... sponge-worthy?”

“What the _hell_ are you talking about?”

“I’ve tried being subtle. It’s obviously lost on you, so I’ll whistle while I work and set up the counter, and you can work out how to prevent cartoon baby birds nesting in your hair.”

Sighing, Allison reached up. Sure enough, the carefully-smoothed curls that glossed beautifully only a half hour ago felt, and probably looked, like something more becoming on an electrocuted scarecrow. “Thanks for telling me,” she said, smiling at Stiles. “Even if it is your own inimitable way.”

Stiles shrugged one shoulder at her. “It’s what I do.”

Walking into the back room, Allison turned on the power sockets and turned on the space heater, knowing that as cold as Derek’s heart was, he wasn’t a fan of freezing his butt off. Especially during his mid-morning naps. She fired up the computer, then unlocked the filing cabinet where Derek purported to keep his paperwork. Looking to each side of her, she bit her lip as she pulled open the top draw labelled ‘invoices’. Sure enough, it was completely empty, save for a puff of dust and a large, bent paper clip. _This is clearly a front_ , she thought to herself.  _Maybe Kate knows what his real deal is?_  Grabbing her apron, she tied it around her front and then reached into her pocket for the scrunchie she carried there. Immediately, she tied her hair up and then affixed her name badge. It said _Alison_ , but it was better than nothing. No sooner had Stiles gone to the bathroom after turning on the machines when a familiar voice greeted her.

“Hello!” Jackson boomed as he walked through the doors. Apparently, he was feeling theatrical that day. “Please tell me that incompetent has been fired.”

Allison peeked out from behind the smooth silver of the espresso machine. Her eyes dragged themselves over the swish of Lydia’s mint green trench and the flick of her red smile before they settled on Jackson’s sneer. The moment Jackson saw her, he groaned.

“Stiles is _not_ incompetent,” Allison said. _Smile, smile, smile_.

“This is what I’m talking about,” Jackson said, as Allison emerged from what was absolutely not a hiding spot, because Allison was tough, and tough people did not need to hide. “My father’s good money goes to paying idiots like her, and I’m supposed to not complain because she’s poor or whatever. Ridiculous. Capitalism exists for a reason.”

“I’m not sure it’s much good money,” Lydia said. Self-consciously, Allison felt an urge to remove the homemade earrings she was wearing; the woven beads felt so childish compared to the green gems Lydia wore. “Or even good money, period.”

“I am happy with my paycheque,” Allison dutifully recited, because Derek was prone to be lurking in the shadows. “I am being compensated for the work I do, which is in line with _any_ capitalist work ethic -- so can I help you?”

“Oh, now she’s begging for tips.” Jackson stepped to one side and peered around her. “Where’s that jerkoff Stilinski? At least he knows how to make a passable cup of coffee.”

“Stiles is --” Allison looked over her shoulder, then looked back. No. She didn’t need Stiles to come save her from Jackson. She could handle him -- and Lydia, too, even if Lydia needed a different kind of handling. “He’s around, but I’m here now. So may I take your order?”

“I’ll wait.” Jackson stole a starlight mint from the bowl Allison kept by the tips jar -- she realised that Stiles was tearing through more of the chocolate-covered coffee beans than all the customers combined -- and walked over to the couch by the window.

Lydia, though, smoothly took his place. “He’ll have a cup of the Kona, and I’ll have a nonfat hazelnut soy latte. God, that is one ugly uniform,” she said. Allison looked down at her frayed apron which was once maroon but was now covered with enough coffee stains to look strangely mottled. “The purple and green. Someone needs to stage an intervention. You’re such a pretty girl, but you look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

Allison realised what Lydia was talking about. She gritted her teeth. “That’s my shirt. That’s not my uniform.”

“Oh.” Lydia twirled a strand of hair between her fingers. “Then that’s just ugly.”  

“Lydia!” Stiles popped up like some sort of whack-a-mole game. His own apron had faded to an orangey red, and had a yellow smiley sticker to the right of his name tag. He looked a little like a twelve year-old who’d outgrown the neighbourhood lemonade stand. “How’s it going?”

As quick as Stiles had popped up, Jackson was right by the counter again. He instantly continued a conversation that must have been going on before him and Lydia had entered their coffee shop. “I checked Facebook.”

“And?” Lydia prompted, Allison able to hear the tap of her foot.

“We have 34 definites, 18 maybes, and one desperate person saying he’d write all my term papers _and_ care plans for a shot at an invite.” Jackson turned his head towards Stiles. “Yeah, for the record, Stilinski, writing a paper on how the never-ending fun motif of _Adventure Time_ influences your care plans isn’t worth jack shit.”

“I got a C-, didn’t I?”

“Wow.” Jackson shook his head. “Someone get this guy on the Dean’s List.”

Lydia seemed to ignore them both. “This is going to be the party of the century!”

Still fixing the drinks, Allison figured as such. She knew she’d not been the most popular girl in high school, but she’d had a solid circle of friends from her extracurriculars, even in spite of the fact she moved around so much. Truth be told, the gymnastics team had mostly sat around on the beanbags in her basement, eating SunChips and cooing over Shawn Johnson on _Dancing With the Stars_. The closest thing to a rager in her teenage world had been drinking a few wine coolers and giggling over _Stick It_. Between her classes and her labs, she hadn’t really had anything close to a social life for months. Hm.

“Oh?” Allison smiled, the one that her aunt Kate had praised the previous night.

“I’m throwing a party. Next weekend,” Lydia explained. She extracted her phone. “Here. Put your number in! You should totally come. It’s my good deed of the day.”

“Really?” Stiles grinned. “I’d love to!”

Jackson snorted. “Not a chance.”

“What Jackson meant to say is that we need to balance the ratio,” Lydia said.

“No” Jackson seemed to look _through_ Stiles as Allison slid their drinks across the counter. “What I meant to say is that I don’t want nerds there.”

As Lydia and Jackson paid up for their drinks, and walked back to “their” couch to ostensibly discuss booze ratios and what colour streamers to use, Allison turned to Stiles. Instantly, her happiness dipped a little as his friend rested his head on the espresso machine.

“She loves me not,” he said, banging his head against the machine. “She loves me not.”

Allison checked her phone quickly, and realised she could do one of two things: she could go to the party, or she could suggest that her, Stiles and Scott arrange a gathering of their own. Who knew, perhaps Scott was just shy in public, and was a great guy in smaller groups? There were online tests that always stated introverts were quiet and misunderstood, after all. (And of anyone, she should know; said online tests confirmed her suspicions that she was as extroverted as a turtle with a stiff neck.)

_We should go shopping before. <3 - L xx_

“I can’t turn this down,” Allison muttered. “There’s a good heart buried somewhere inside Lydia’s bosom.”

Stilles muttered a final, “She loves me not,” before tilting his head back from the espresso machine and turning his head to look at Allison. “But soft! What light through yonder shirt breaks! It is the east, and Lydia’s boobs are the sun.”

“Ew. That could be my new best friend,” Allison pointed out. “Also, I don’t think that quote means what you think it does.”

“Just between friends,” Stiles said. “I think you should do it. Do it for the Vine, Allison. The Vine!”

Allison rolled her eyes. “I’ll do it. But only for the --” Suddenly, the bell chimed, and Allison cleared her throat before grinning at the incoming customer. “Hi! What can I grind for ya!”

“You’re smile’s a little scary,” Stiles said, poking her in the arm. “Have you been watching _Archer_ again?”

“No. And It’s not even about an archer,” Allison said, but kept on smiling at her customer, a pretty girl who looked to be about her age with dark blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. She couldn’t recall having seen her before.

“I don’t want you to grind me _anything_ ,” the customer said, her eyes fixed on Stiles. “I would like your most normal coffee. Then, I plan on sitting here, for a while. I’m attending college this fall. For a normal college experience.”

“O-kay?” Allison said.

The girl gestured at Stiles. “What’s his deal? I can hear his heart pounding from here.”

“It’s an arrhythmia!” Stiles protested.

The girl looked over her shoulder, gesturing to where Jackson and Lydia seemed to be having a heated discussion. “No. Macklemore’s over there. He seems a little anxious about something.” She grinned at Stiles, extending her hand. “Hi! I’m Malia.” Biting down on her lip a little, she seemed to appraise Stiles. “And I need your number. They told me getting to know cute boys was part of the normal college experience, too.”

Stiles’ eyes seemed to turn into hearts that pounded as much as Malia was indicating Jackson’s heart was. “Oh, I can show you _all_ about the normal college experience,” he said. “I’m a _very_ good guide.”

Taking the opportunity to let Stiles have some success with someone he was attracted to for a change, Allison took a step back and adjusted her ponytail in her scrunchie. Stiles was laughing, but this Malia woman looked like she was actually buying his bad jokes as something other than horny desperation. _Huh_. Certainly her bluntness meant they had something in common, which seemed like they had a little more in common than the fake-airhead and the jock over in the corner.

Apart from being ridiculously attractive and having cheekbones that could cut diamonds, they seemed to have nothing in common at all. Lydia could certainly pull off the dumb act, but there was definitely a heart underneath it all, as well as a brain. Jackson didn’t seem to possess either.

\--

That evening, Allison checked her Facebook feed. One quick scroll and a click later? It proudly stated:

_Allison Argent is attending Lydia’s Better than You Bash._

Not only a minute after clicking on the ‘attending’ button, she was greeted with a notification:

_Stiles Stilinski likes this._

\--

Soon, it was the night of the party, and Allison had felt a little awkward that she hadn’t taken up Lydia on her offer to help her pick out an outfit. Her week had been busy; she’d helped her aunt do some research on a few cases she was working on, and she’d turned in the last of her papers. Without much direction, she took a long soak in the tub, and decided she was going to dress how she wanted to, not to fit anyone’s preconceived notions of what people felt an athletic Pre-Med co-ed should wear. She wanted to look _nice_ , damnit. She wanted Lydia to compliment her; if Lydia wasn’t so effortlessly stylish herself, she wouldn’t have given the redhead a moment’s thought.

Allison slathered herself in strawberry body butter. She slipped on a cute dress that showed off her long legs, wriggled into some bottle green tights, and wore some earrings which coordinated with both. She even wore bright red lipstick. To finish her ensemble, she borrowed some of her aunt’s leather boots, which had a low enough heel that she wouldn’t feel like Godzilla in them. Twirling a little in the mirror before she left, she felt that Lydia would be crazy to hate this outfit.

Not that she was thinking about Lydia, of course.

\--

Feeling luxurious, and wanting to avoid the electrifying hair that Stiles had mocked the previous week, Allison decided to be indulgent and splash a little cash on a cab. The driver whistled when he picked her up, which made her feel a little uneasy until he started talking about how much she reminded him of his daughter. The house Lydia’s parents had rented for her (yes, an entire house, as the Facebook group had smugly announced) was all lit up with a low bass thudding out of the open front door. Allison recognised the two large guys flanking either side were from the lacrosse team. A small crowd of people were out on the porch, coming in and out, and a large banner draped across the eaves read ‘HAPPY WINTER BREAK!’

It was so much like the party scene from _Clueless_ that Allison was half-expecting Elton and Tai to spring out of the topiary and start singing ‘Rolling With the Homies’.

Instead, she walked up the driveway noting that it was a little colder than _Clueless_ even though they were in California. She clutched her purse tightly in her hand and shivered a little, feeling the cold wind hit her legs.

“Hey!” Allison’s eyes widened when she was handed a red solo cup sloshing full of a purple drink. “Have a Porn Star, baby! It’ll get you in the mood!”

Allison took in the guy. He was wearing a football shirt with the number 69 on the back. One of Jackson’s friends, no doubt. “Thank you,” she said, watching him bump the fist of a similarly-attired guy wearing a football shirt which _also_ had the number 69 on the back. How original.

Quickly, she strolled through the hallway, determined to see off the cold. In spite of her cautious instincts, she raised the cup to her lips, and took a tentative sip. Her Porn Star was good. It was _really_ good. She took another sip, mindful of her aunt’s advice: _Go slow_. She could do this; have fun, but keep her wits about her. The last thing she wanted to do to her aunt was to make some embarrassing drunk college kid cliché of herself.

“Hey, hot stuff!” Allison turned around, and yet _another_ guy in a football shirt offered her a drink. “You thirsty?”

“I’m good,” she said, waving her cup in the air, wondering what exactly was in a Porn Star to make it so very delicious.

As she walked through to the main room of the house, the party grew even louder. Everybody was dancing, and chatting, and drinking; a keg was open in the corner. She scanned for bright, gingerbread-coloured hair, but there was no sign of the host. Allison frowned, and debated sending her a text. She knew it was good manners to say hello to the host when you first came, but then again, Miss Manners didn’t mention the appropriate course of action when the party had sixteen people screaming _SHOTS, SHOTS, SHOTS_ alongside the music and you had a very strong urge to join them.

“Well,” Allison said to herself. “Good party.”

She scanned the room; this was a first for her, and she didn’t really know what to do. She surveyed her surroundings and retreated against a wall, sipping her drink. That was, until someone jostled her. A bit of drink spilled on her hand and with an annoyed grunt (he hadn’t even _apologised_ ) she walked through a doorway to her left, leading her further into the depths of the rather sizeable house.

It was calmer back here, but not by much. Allison kept hearing suspicious noises coming from the closed (or, oh god, kind of open) doors to her left and right. Her eye caught a flicker of movement, pale skin, and before she could _shut her eyes ew ew ew_ the kind of open door became very open. Before she could process what she had seen, a familiar hand was placed on her shoulder in a tentative way and accompanied by a wheezy stutter that clearly wasn’t from some sleazy frat bro.  

“Scott?” Alison said, louder than she was expecting.

Scott blinked at her. “You know my name?”

“Of course I do!” Allison swept his hand away. “You’re Stiles’ best friend, and ... wait. The two of you are never apart. Where’s Stiles?” Allison blinked, then looked over her shoulder at the wide brown eyes that glanced furtively around the corner just behind her, like he was mid-paintball match. "Ah," she said, and at her voice, he startled, slamming head first into the wall.

“Don’t _do_ that!” Stiles yelped.

“Do what?” Allison said, utterly lost. “Call your name? What are you even doing here, anyway?”

“Well, you know, I happened to overhear the location of the party. And I thought, why don’t I go? I’m a fun guy! Not a fungi, because that would make me a mushroom, and Lydia _hates_ mushrooms so I guess I’m a fun comma guy which is something completely different, and ...” Stiles jammed his hands into his pockets, and extracted a silver-coloured metal flask. “Care for a little drink? I care for a little drink.”

Allison was worried that if she let him keep going, he’d really embarrass himself. From what she knew of the nursing program, gossip travelled faster than the speed of light. “I was thinking of going home,” she said. “And I need a ride home. So ...”

“No can do!” Stiles said. “We’re going to have fun, fun, fun ‘til my daddy takes the T-bird away.”

“You don’t have a T-bird, dude,” Scott shook his head. “You drive a beat-up old Jeep. If your dad took it away, it’d probably write him a thank-you note.”

“Don’t rag on my car if you don’t even have a car yourself,” Stiles said, then took a large gulp from his hip flask. “My daddy might take the T-bird away, but my daddy giveth me Scotch. You want some, Scotty?”

“I don’t think Scott should be drinking. Didn't you say he had asthma?” Allison said, tilting her head towards Scott who was sweating so much he shimmered more than a _Twilight_ vampire. Whatever embarrassment Stiles would cause by sneaking in so un-sneakily was ameliorated by the fact Scott was causing more than enough embarrassment for the pair of them. He reached for his asthma inhaler, and pressed it tightly against his chest as he wheezed a little.

“You owe me,” Scott muttered, accepting the hipflask and taking a tiny swig before passing it back to Stiles. “Booze is fine. Stiles’ knock-off Old Spice aftershave is, like, my trigger.”

“I think you owe _me_ ,” Stiles said. “What’s a little bit of chest pain when your best friend’s got you into the party of the year. No, the _century_. Where’s the love, McCall. Hm?”

Scott actually begun to wheeze a little on each exhale. “Of course ... it’s the party of the century. Because we don’t, like ... _go_ to any parties.”

Allison shook her head. “It’s not a little bit of chest pain, Stiles. It’s -- I think his lips are turning blue.”

“He’ll be fine. That's from the purple drank. He just wants your attention.” Stiles opened his mouth wide. “How’s my breath smell?”

“I am,” Scott wheezed again, shaking up his inhaler. “ _Not_ smelling your breath.”

“Do you have any gum?”

“No. No gum.” Scott took a puff of his inhaler, then rolled his eyes. “Geez, you’re fine.”

“I’m surprised Lydia gave you an invite,” Allison said, raising an eyebrow as Stiles continued to drink from his hip flask. She brushed a speck of lint from her dress, and looked between the pair of them.

Stiles wiped at the back of his mouth and then recapped his flask, putting it back in his pocket. “Invites are so ... formal. Don’t you think?”

“You gatecrashed,” Allison said, wishing for another drink.

“Why would anyone as smart as Lydia turn down _more_ guests at her party?” Stiles sent his gaze heavenward, clutching his hands against his chest. “If you think about it rationally, as you Pre-Med types are wont to do, I’m being a good Samaritan, here. I’m going out of my way to make sure everyone knows how cool Lydia is by being awesome enough to briefly show up at her party and show her how valuable she is to the fabric of Beacon Hills’ society. That’s all I’m doing.”

“I-- I’m only here because of _him_ ,” Scott said, pointing towards Stiles. He wiped down his face with his shirt sleeve, his eyes wide and startled. “I swear!”

“Uh huh.” Allison nodded. Her head shifted slightly on its own accord. _Wow_. That Porn Star must have been stronger than she thought. “I’m going to go ... over there ...” She hiccuped. “Bathroom.”

\--

Allison might have been a little tipsy, but she was in full control of her actions. She walked down the end of the hallway, searching for a bathroom. The last thing she wanted to do was to get dragged along in Stiles’ wake, as it seemed Scott had been. Given her major, it was only natural that she was worried about Scott’s health, but she remembered that Stiles was a nursing major, and despite the bravado her close friend showed, Scott was in safe hands. She slipped into a thankfully empty bathroom, where her bladder was very thankful to be relieved, then exited and slipped into yet another hallway. Turning a corner, she realised she wasn’t far from where she was before, and bumped into Lydia, who was perched on a side table, checking her phone.

“Allison!” Lydia squealed, extending her arms, one of which held a crystal glass. There were clearly no red solo cups for her. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Allison told her. “Great party.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “It’s greater now you’ve showed up. It’s nice to have some more _adult_ company.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Allison said. “I don’t normally do parties.”

“Ah. You’re one of the studious types. Well, come on! Live a little!” Lydia hopped off the table and linked arms with her. “If you liked that Porn Star I saw you drinking earlier, you’re going to _love_ a little Sex on the Beach. Come on, I’ll fix you a drink, and then we can have a little chat. Girl to girl.”

Smiling, Allison let herself be carried away to the drinks table. To be fair on her naivete, the only reason she hadn’t blanched at the Sex on the Beach was the fact that Beacon Hills was inland, and nobody was driving anywhere in their current states. _This_? This was what college was supposed to be about. Lydia bit down on her glossy lip, gave a few of the attendees high-fives on the way, and gestured to the available liquor.

Lydia picked up the bottle of peach schnapps. “It’s practically a fruit,” she stage-whispered. “I’m sure that weird little diet of yours can tolerate a little fruit, right?”

“What ‘weird little diet’?” Allison watched Lydia uncap the bottle, pouring a little of the liquid into the bottom of the two glasses.

“Please. You’re, like, the only girl working at a coffee shop who doesn’t taste the merchandise.”

“I don’t like caffeine. It gives me the jitters.”

Frowning, Lydia looked at her before reaching for a frosted glass bottle. _Vodka_. Even Allison, in her limited experience, could tell that it was rather expensive vodka. “Mm. _Oranj_. Danny and Ethan have good taste.”

“I’m ...” Allison watched Lydia do a little cocktail move, adding some juice and a stirrer and reaching for two maraschino cherries. She dropped one in the highball glass, and popped the other in her mouth with a lick of her lips. “Your lipstick ...” she trailed off. “Is that one of the ones you made yourself? It’s really pretty.”

Lydia shook her head, heading Allison the glass with the cherry in it. “MAC. It’s Kinda Sexy.”

“ _Kinda_? I’d say _very_. I’m surprised Jackson’s left you alone.”

“Oh, no. That’s the name of the lipstick.” Lydia took a sip of her drink, then gestured for Allison to give hers back and added a little more peach schnapps. “I don’t do _kinda_ anything. My life motto is to go all-in.”

Allison reached for the drink, taking a sip. “Mm. You definitely went all-in on _that_.”

“Come on, follow me,” Lydia said. It struck Allison as more than a little strange that she was wanting to hang out with the new kid rather than with her lacrosse star boyfriend. Allison thought back to _Clueless_ , and reminded herself to not let anyone lift her up and drape her over a balcony should the urge strike her for a little fresh air. “You like music, right?” she said, conspiratorially. “Me too. I was thinking of making an impromptu playlist. This DJ isn’t up to my standards.”

Nodding with more enthusiasm than she normally did, Allison let herself be taken by the hand and led up the ornate staircase to a guest bedroom where Lydia closed the door behind them and kicked off her high-heeled, open-toed booties before putting her iPod into the sound dock and cueing something with a steady beat that had Allison tapping her foot. It wasn’t the usual sort of stuff she listened to, lyrics about _climbing ladders and tearing buttons off_ and she adjusted her neckline a little, feeling a little sweat gather in the hollow between her collarbones.

In contrast to the lyrics, Lydia politely steered the line of conversation to Allison -- what was her favourite colour; what was her favourite band (she vowed to make Lydia a mix because how could a preppy college girl like Lydia _not_ know Vampire Weekend?); why someone like her was attending Beacon when she was clearly smart enough to shoot for an Ivy League.

“The plan was a gymnastics scholarship, but ...” Allison took another sip of her drink, pointing to her gangly legs. “The girls on the team always joked they’d use _me_ as the beam. There was some family stuff that happened my senior year, so I decided to stay closer to home. What about you? You could do anything you wanted. Why Chemistry?”

Lydia gestured to her breasts. “I only chose chemistry after _these_ puppies put a premature end to my figure skating career.”

“Really?” Allison gaped. “I can’t believe we have so much in common.”

“Dreams dashed by a late puberty,” Lydia said. "Who'd have thought?"

“At least you got a woman’s body out of it,” Allison pointed out, noticing she would soon be in need of another drink. Perhaps it was the candour that made her continue. “I’m still in training bras.”

For a while, Lydia fell silent, and Allison wondered if perhaps she’d said too much; maybe this was why she found it difficult to make friends? She began as the shy and reticent girl her aunt always told her not to be, and the moment she divulged anything slightly personal she managed to be completely inappropriate. No wonder her Friday nights were normally spent with Netflix, and no wonder she had absolutely no idea what to do at a party other than awkwardly tap her fingers to the music Lydia was playing her and look down into the pinkish red liquid in her glass.

“Don’t _do_ that,” Lydia said, crisply.

“I - I’m sorry?”

“Don’t do _that_ , either.” Lydia shuffled up the bed and suddenly her tiny hand was gentle on Allison’s thigh, the heat still perceptible through the leggings she was wearing under her dress. “Don’t talk about yourself like that, and stop apologising!”

Allison shuffled away a little. It was the topic that was making her feel uncomfortable; this was a whole new kind of bonding with female friends, and she didn’t quite know what to do other than say, “Sorry,” again, and take another sip of her drink.

“Allison.” Lydia’s voice was harsh, like it had been back in the coffee shop on the first time they’d met. “As your new best friend, I feel I have a right to know a little more about you. Not just the parts you think you want me to. What _is_ your story? I don’t even know your last name.”

“Argent. It’s French.”

Lydia beamed a Hollywood smile at her. “Ah, that’s why you’re so silver-tongued.”

“Shut up,” Allison muttered.

“Do you speak French?”

“ _Un peu_ ,” Allison said, grinning. “ _Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent_. My aunt says that’s the family motto and there’s a lot of history behind the name, but honestly, I don’t really ...”  Allison shook her head. “Looking through photos and that sort of stuff isn’t a good idea. It brings back bad memories.”

“Oh, please. Your jawline isn’t _that_ masculine.”

Allison moved her hand to where Lydia’s still rested on her thigh, placing it over the top. “Not those kinds of bad memories.”

“Talk to me?” Lydia’s voice was soft. “I’m not anything like the bitch I seem to be. You’re a smart enough girl; I know you can see it for the defense mechanism it is.”

“It’s ...” Allison removed her hand, feeling her skin grow cooler as Lydia’s hand followed suit. “It’s more ...” She reached up for the silver necklace she always wore, rubbing her thumbprint over the indent. She closed her eyes, letting it soothe her before opening them, meeting Lydia’s eyes which seemed to challenge her.

“Now that’s a defense mechanism.” Lydia tossed her curls over her shoulder. “What, you had that thing since pre-school? Let it go, already.”

Looking away, Allison felt herself begin to wither. “That was my mom’s,” she muttered.

“You don’t have to dress like your mom and wear her ugly necklace just to please her,” Lydia said, narrowing her eyes. “You’re, what, nineteen? It’s time to ditch the beads and the tie-dye. Show the world what you _really_ are.”

Allison downed the rest of her drink, hoping it would get rid of the lump in her throat. “My mom committed suicide last year. That _ugly necklace_ is all I have left of her.” She paused, not wanting to meet Lydia’s expression. “So please. Go ahead. Tell me exactly how _ugly_ and _dorky_ and _nerdy_ I am for wanting to keep something that’s important close to me, in the only way I can, now.”

“I ... I am so sorry. I didn’t realise.”

“Well, _realise_ ,” Allison said, getting up off the bed and slamming the glass down what looked to be a very expensive wooden dresser. “I know it’s not exactly congruent with your cherished existence, having _two_ loving parents who rent a house for you, to throw a party to celebrate nothing other than the fact you’re a smart, hot, loveable woman who’s the apple of everyone’s eye, who doesn’t have to serve coffee to entitled brats just to buy _Tampax_ , and --”

Suddenly, the door sprung open, showing Jackson and one of the 69-shirted friends Allison saw earlier. It might have been either of them, or another one entirely; they all tended to blend into one homogeneous lump of jock. Jackson's fist clenched the fabric of Stiles’ shirt, and his friend was pinching Stiles’ ear so hard the tip was turning white.

“Ow.” Stiles bit down on his lip, holding onto a bottle of amber liquid in his hand. “Ow ow ow ow ow.”

Lydia pushed herself off the bed and put her shoes back on before taking long, purposeful strides over to where the trio stood. “What is _he_ doing here?”

“Good ...” Allison stood up and put her hands on her hips. She cleared her throat. “Good question! What are you doing here, Stilinski?”

“Stiles. It’s Stiles. Stilinski is, like, my dad.”

“Whatever your name,” Lydia said, poking him in the chest, “There had better be a very good explanation.”

“Good explanation? Of _course_ there’s a good explanation,” Stiles laughed nervously, his face twisting into an even tighter wince as 69-Dude continued to pinch at his ear. “Except I can’t _hear_ anything I’m saying, because of this guy.” Stiles whapped 69-Dude’s chest, then shrank back. “Ah. Sorry.”

“Let him go, Noah.” Lydia took a sip from her drink, sounding and standing so much like an intimidating queen that Allison felt her mouth dry. _Khaleesi_ , she thought, before vowing to stop her _Game of Thrones_ rewatch. “This had better be good.”

Noah and Jackson let go of Stiles, and he crumpled a little to his feet. He stood up with a huff and straightened out his clothes, then held up the bottle of scotch he had. “Spin the bottle!” he blurted.

“Spin the bottle.” Lydia leaned back against the dresser, sharing an amused look with Allison, who smiled back uncertainly. “You gatecrashed for spin the bottle?”

“No.” Stiles held the bottle up. “I was walking by, minding my own business, when some idiot just threw this bottle at me --”

“It didn’t break?” Lydia said.

“I caught it, didn’t I?” Stiles said defensively.

Jackson snorted. “Not likely. I’ve seen this sack of shit try out for the team.”

“I did!” Stiles insisted, waving the bottle, which slipped from his hands. He fumbled, but managed to catch it in time. “See? Reflexes like a fox. So I caught the bottle, and then the _idiot_ goes, ‘Hey bro, we need that!’ And I’m like, ‘Why?’ and he’s like, ‘Spin the bottle, dude!’ And I’m like --”

“Not getting to the point?” Lydia finished, and Allison could see Stiles’ nerves, his throat bobbing with his swallow. She had to hand it to him, though -- she was well aware that this story was pure bullshit, but Stiles was selling it. Maybe it helped that he always blinked so much that it wasn’t too far from his normal demeanour.

“Well, point is, I bring the bottle up to them like the good guy I am. They _drag_ me into the house, make me do some shots, which is when the bouncers grab me. And I don’t think _I_ should be blamed for being dragged in here. It was a kidnapping. I was just trying to get out alive.” Stiles smiled at Lydia, blinking with a little less fervour. “Do I really look like the party type?”

“Hm, no.” Lydia considered him, pacing up and down, one hand on her hip. “Okay. Fine. You can stay. But that bottle is mine.” She wiggled her fingers, and Stiles slumped his head a little as he reluctantly handed it over. Once Lydia had it, she turned to Allison with a bright smile. “Let’s play spin the bottle.”

Ah. Another part of the college party experience. It almost felt like a checklist.

“Awesome!” Noah-69 finally spoke up, grinning toothily. His eyes seemed to be on Allison as well. “Spin the bottle, dude!” He slapped Jackson’s arm, and Jackson nodded.

“Fine.” Jackson smirked. “But no Stilinskii.” He shoved Stiles towards the door. “Go look up mouthbreathing cures or something.”

“What, do you want advice?” Stiles shot back, but when Noah and Jackson both took heavy steps towards him, Noah punching his fist against his palm, Stiles held up his hands. “Alright, alright. I’m gone. I’ve got a rainbow shot chain to finish.”

Allison exhaled with relief as Stiles darted away, almost as quickly as the fox he’d alluded to being. She was more than a little worried she was going to witness a beating; Noah probably didn't have the same reservations about his facial features being rearranged as Jackson did.

Lydia finished her drink, then tilted her head at Allison. “C’mon, bestie. Let’s go find some hot guys.”

Jackson cleared his throat pointedly, but Lydia just plucked her iPod off the dock, put it in her purse, and sashayed out of the room. Allison followed, trying her best to smile politely at Noah’s wide grin as she brushed past him, cringing as their bodies made brief contact.

\--

Once they made it downstairs and had fixed themselves another round of drinks, Allison was not surprised to see Lydia’s magnetic powers of attraction put to work instantly. Soon, they had a group of ten for Spin the Bottle. One of them was, to Allison’s surprise, Scott. His cheeks were a little pinker than they had been earlier, but his breaths were still a little quick and shallow. Their gazes met briefly, and she flashed him a supportive smile. At that, his cheeks went to full-on blush.

“Me first!” Lydia said, and crawled over to set the bottle in the middle of the circle. She was on her knees so she could spin it, and Allison’s eyes darted down, drawn to the way Lydia’s dress curved over the wiggle of her rear. Her stomach squirmed. _Stop it_ , Allison told it. _You can’t help not having a body like that_.

Lydia spun, then settled back, watching the bottle go. It landed on Noah, who immediately whooped until he heard a, “ _Knock if off, bro,_ ” from Jackson. Noah crawled over to Lydia and gave her a quick peck; Allison suspected Jackson would do a lot more than tell him to knock it off if it had been anything more. Allison bit her lip. She’d kissed people before, she wasn’t a total loner, but she didn’t know if she had the confidence to dive in like that.

The game progressed. Noah looked disappointed when his bottle landed on the beautiful girl next to Allison -- all Allison could think was that he was maybe racist as the girl was Asian. Allison’s chest fluttered more with each spin. Would she make a slight fool of herself, or a total fool of herself? She kept sipping her newest drink as she waited, heart thumping. Soon up was Jackson, who pulled a face like he was licking a battery as he gave Scott a brief peck, and then Scott had his turn. The bottle landed on the girl next to Allison again, and Scott looked disappointed. Again, weird. Why were people treating the girl like she was some sort of leper? Maybe she’d had mono or something?

Allison continued to puzzle this as Scott crawled across the circle and kissed the girl, who grasped his face, kissing him far more enthusiastically than Lydia had Noah. Not that Allison could really blame her, because as much as she could tell, Scott was a far better prospect than Noah. When Scott pulled away, his eyes were dazed, and one of his hands was clenching the fabric of his loose khakis

“Woah, Kira,” the other 69-Shirt said, slapping his thighs. “Was Scotty there your first?”

Kira bit down on her lip, and seemed to freeze in place before she shuffled back to the circle. When it was her next spin, she got Lydia. Shrugging their shoulders, they kissed. Really, Lydia was about as eager as the kiss as she had appeared to be about kissing Noah.

“My turn again!" Lydia said, and the bottle spun, and spun, and spun, and landed on ... Allison.

“Oh.” Allison said, her voice sounding small to her own ears. When she looked up from the stilled bottle, Lydia was already approaching. Her lips were glossy pink, and her hooded, smoky eyes seemed set on Allison’s mouth. Making a small squeak under her breath, Allison wasn’t sure what to do with her hands, and felt the pinch at the tips of her fingers as she gripped her glass tightly. Then, Lydia’s slender fingers tipped with manicured nails slid into Allison’s hair as Allison was drawn into a hot, wet kiss.

Unable to help it, Allison gasped into Lydia’s mouth, eyes fluttering shut. Her heart pounded its way into her lips which throbbed hotly as she kissed Lydia back. If she had thought Lydia was magnetic before, it was worse (better?) here, like being dizzily drawn into a hurricane of power and heat. Allison wanted to set her drink down to grab Lydia’s shoulders, wanted her to part her lips so she could taste Lydia’s tongue, but all she could do was tilt her chin and press closer.

She only felt the stickiness of the gloss on her lips when Lydia pulled away. Lydia's cheeks were as pink as her lips, and she stared at Allison with an unreadable expression. Allison felt equally unsure. What was that? She couldn’t be --

“Oh my god!”

 _Oh come on_ , Allison thought. This wasn’t the only same-sex kiss of the night.

“What’s _wrong_ with him?” the girl next to Allison -- Kira -- asked. Allison managed to tear her eyes away from Lydia and then panic began to set in, although she couldn’t initially think why.

“Dude’s just liking the show!” Jackson laughed, gesturing at Scott who was wheezing harder, clutching at his chest.

“Shut up, Jackson,” Lydia snapped, then clicked her fingers at Allison. “Med student. What’s wrong with him? My dad will get no deposit back if someone dies here.”

“A -- he --” Allison was Pre-Med, damnit. Like she’d even been unleashed on a real life patient as anything other than a candy striper. “Asthma.” Her brain finally kicked into gear. “It's asthma." She crawled across the circle, stooping to peer into Scott’s eyes. Were his lips going blue, or was that leftover stain from one of the Porn Stars? “He’s asthmatic.”

“He’s a killjoy, that’s what he is,” Jackson said. “He’s just faking it so he won’t --”

“Shut the fuck up! This isn't funny!" Allison said, noticing Lydia’s mouth fall open in shock. “Scott? Do you have your inhaler? Nod if you do.”

Scott shook his head. “L- lost it,” he wheezed, and Allison bit back an annoyed comment. So not the time to lecture.

“Does anyone else here have one?” Lydia asked the circle, and grudgingly, one of the jocks raised his hand and tossed it to Lydia. “Here,” she said, thrusting it into Scott’s hand, which was visibly shaking. “Is this what you normally take?”

Scott nodded, taking a puff, wheezing on his exhale.

“We have to get you to the hospital.” Allison reached for Scott's free hand, looking around frantically, dragging him up. “Stiles!” she shouted, over the thudding base of some obnoxious pop hit. She had to hope Stiles was just _around_ , as he always was when Lydia was near.

“Yes?” Stiles popped up from the nearby group that were playing some shooter game on the big screen TV. Then, he noticed Scott, who was leaning his full weight against Allison’s shoulder. “Is he wasted? I told you you couldn’t handle your alcohol, not like me ...” he said, waving his drink around, half of it spilling down his arm.

“I think he's having an asthma attack!” Allison said, trying to haul Scott’s weight up as he began to slide to the floor. “Take another puff of your inhaler,” she said to him. “We’re going to the hospital, and I don’t know any of his contact details ...”

“Coming, coming.” Stiles rushed over, setting his drink aside on one of the speakers. Allison swore she saw Lydia waving something at her, but they were already stumbling out of the house. “We can’t drive. No car. And I’m maybe a liiiiitttttttllllle bit drunk.”

Allison rolled her eyes. “Do you want to call an ambulance?”

Scott straightened at that, shaking his head. “Too -- expensive --” he gritted out. “Taxi.”

Grateful for Lydia’s foresight, Allison saw the line of taxis that were waiting for drunk partygoers to leave. Readjusting her hold on Scott, she managed to get his head down and bundle him into the backseat of one of the cabs. Once they were belted-in, Stiles told the driver to step on it, while Allison rubbed circles on Scott’s back, instructing him to sit up straight and take slow breaths.

\--

By the time they arrived at the hospital, the inhaler seemed to have done the trick. Although Scott looked even paler than normal and his hands were still trembling, he was able to talk in full sentences to the clerk at the desk, explaining that he needed an urgent refill of his asthma medication. The clerk shook his head, and told him that he really needed to be seen by a physician. He told Scott that a nurse would be with him immediately, not asking about insurance or the like. That was weird -- Allison had always been healthy and had only been in hospitals to candy stripe and visit her mom when she had been having treatment ( _don’t_ think about that now, just _don't_ , she reminded herself) but she figured there was always a requisite stack of papers.

A male nurse saw to Scott immediately, and turned to Allison and Stiles whose responses were mostly _I dunno_. While Stiles looked down at the floor, Allison filled in the nurse, feeling a little surge of pride that one day, it would be her assessing idiot teenagers who lost their asthma meds after drinking while underage and -- okay, perhaps it was time to reconsider her chosen career path. The nurse seemed to take it in good humour, though, which indicated to Allison that Scott was in no imminent danger.

“Good job you brought him in quickly,” the nurse said. “A few nebs and some supplementary oxygen, and he’ll be good to go home within a few hours once his sats pick up. Stilinski?"

"Y-yes?"

"What are the main triggers for an acute asthma attack in the young and college-aged?”

“Uh.” Stiles withered a little. “C-cold air? Pet hair? Strong smells?” He grinned. “My wonderful, competent mentor who’s absolutely, positively going to give me a passing grade for my clinicals?”

The nurse shook his head; clearly he'd suffered Stiles before. Not for the first time, Allison really couldn’t see Stiles working in this environment.

“Alcohol. Goddamn _alcohol_ ,” Scott mumbled, removing his mask and sighing without a wheeze this time. “Dude, _please_. Don’t tell --”

Suddenly, an older female nurse drew back the curtain. She looked to be in her early forties, her wavy hair tied back in a ponytail, and she wore jade green scrubs. Allison smiled at her; she gave off warmth and professional vibes, and Allison imagined that might be what she'd look like in a few years.

“Why does my son not have his inhaler?” she said.

 _Oh_.

“Helooooooo nurse!” Stiles shouted, far too loudly. “Shouldn’t your son have the right to nurse-patient confidentiality?”

“You waived _that_ right when you knocked over the crash cart on your way in!”

“It was an accident, Mrs. McCall," Stiles protested. “ _This_ was an accident.”

“Save it,” Mrs. McCall muttered. “Scott?”

Scott put his hands over his ears. “My head,” he muttered.

Just my luck, Allison thought. Try to do the responsible thing, and I’m probably going to get blamed by mommy dearest.

“Uh huh.” Mrs. -- _Nurse_ McCall -- crossed her arms. “And did this accident happen before or after you got drunk?”

“Drunk?” Stiles made a disbelieving noise, hand slapping heavily against his chest. “Me? Drunk? Us? I’m just regular ol’ Stiles, give me a line, and I’ll walk in--” his hand flung out again, this time crashing into a drip stand, which skated across the floor. “Fuck!” Stiles shouted, cradling his hand to his chest.

Mrs. McCall looked to Allison and raised an eyebrow.

“If I was drunk,” Stiles said, “that wouldn’t have hurt.”

Scott sighed, a sound Allison wanted to echo. As Mrs. McCall whispered something to the other nurse and took the clipboard from him, writing something down, Stiles looked like he was trying to remain still. The problem was that this was an impossible task when he was sober, let alone when he’d had goodness knows how many shots. Allison raised pointed eyebrows at him when he tried to lean against a chair and missed, stumbling and just catching himself.

“Still sober!” He cheerily called to Scott’s mom. “It’s like Scouts over here. Sober.”

“Stiles, drop it.” She fixed him with a steely look. “You’re fooling no-one, and because of this little irresponsible night out, I’ve got a sick son. So maybe you should try being quiet or maybe get your friend here some coffee.”

"I don't drink coffee," Allison said.

Mrs. McCall raised an eyebrow. "Good job you're not in my profession."

Although the ire wasn’t directed solely at her, Allison still felt low. She considered Stiles to be a good friend, but she barely knew Scott, let alone his mom. Why was _she_ being dragged into this? She considered leaving, and took a slow step towards the door as Mrs. McCall said some heated things to Stiles.

“And as for you ...!” Scott’s mom turned on her again, voice much more an irritated mom than a cool and collected ER nurse. “I -- I actually have no idea who you are.”

“That’s Allis _ooooonnnn_ ,” Stiles sang, with a broad wink.

Mrs. McCall nodded slowly, a brief smile flitting across her face as she nudged her son with her penlight. “Oh. Allison, huh?”

Allison was having to redefine her definition of the word uncomfortable.

“Mom.” Scott shook his head, mortified. “Drop it, okay.”

“I’m not dropping anything, mister.” Mrs McCall wrote something else down on her clipboard. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you were at this party too. All of you.”

“Party!” Stiles pressed his hands together. “We were at _church_.” Allison opened her mouth, but Stiles walked over and put a finger against her hips. “Ssh. Silence in the pews, Allison.”

Mrs. McCall turned her hard gaze back on Allison. “What party was this?”

“A friend’s winter break thing!” Allison blurted out immediately. She couldn’t resist a stern maternal glare like that, and she’d have to process what it meant later. “Well. Not really a friend. But maybe on the way to being one? She’s really smart and interesting and pretty and I don’t know, I think we were hitting it off ...”

When Allison shut her mouth, she swore she could still taste the peach of Lydia’s lipgloss. Or maybe that was from one of her many drinks. _God_ , so this was what drunk felt like. Although she was aware she was behaving more subtly than Stiles, the booze was definitely hitting her just as much. Stiles laughed loudly, for no reason that was clear to Allison, and she amended that. It was hitting her nowhere _near_ as much as it was hitting Stiles. But it was still noticeable to her, and definitely noticeable to Mrs. McCall who’d likely seen her fair share of drunken college kids in her time as an ER nurse.

“She’s nice,” Allison finished, the booze making her blush. “Scott, your mom seems very nice, too.”

“Oh. I see.” For some reason, Mrs. McCall patted her son’s shoulder and shot him a sympathetic glance. “Well,  Allison, you should tell this _nice_ friend of yours that if a guest has a medical emergency at a party where underage drinking was happening, she’d be in a world of trouble. For future reference. Can you tell her that?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Allison said, and ducked her head.

“Please, call me Melissa. You seem like a responsible young woman, so you can get Stiles home. I’ll talk to his dad tomorrow --” Stiles made a theatrical gasp at that -- “and _I’ll_ handle things with my troublemaker son here.”

“I had like, one beer, mom,” Scott said, then whined even more when his mom smoothed back his hair. "One!"

“And nearly died. I could have joined MADD.”

“We didn’t even _take_ the car!” Scott protested.

“C’mon, Stiles,” Allison murmured, noticing that her friend hadn’t been this quiet since the last time he stuffed his face with curly fries at the nearby diner they sometimes went to after a busy shift at The Grind. She felt a pang in her chest at the care Mrs. McCall obviously had for both her son and her son’s long-time best friend, and wondered if Kate would still be up when she got home. Her aunt would probably find this funny, and she needed a touch of funny right now. “Let’s get another taxi.”

“But I’m really sure Scott here would like you to --” Allison grabbed at Stiles’ ear, pulling him along. He waved a wide goodbye to Scott and Mrs. McCall and then whined a little until Allison let go. “Geez. You’re really strong. You should totally go as Wonder Woman next Halloween.”

What had previously been a happy buzz was turning into a headache. “Shut up, Stiles.”

“Okay. After I said that. I’ll shut up. Now.” Stiles grinned at her. “Hey, do you think they’d like me -- okay. Shutting up.”

Was it okay to take Advil after you’d finished drinking? She’d have to WebMD that once she got home, after dealing with what looked like a string of missed calls from partygoers as to their whereabouts.

“I mean, after that now. _Now_ now.”

Oh hell. After another car ride with Stiles, she’d knock back a handful of the things, no questions asked.

\--

As predicted, Kate’s only action was to laugh at Allison and offer her a nightcap. Allison actually accepted this, and was secretly relieved when the nightcap turned out to be nothing stronger than a warm glass of milk with a dusting of cinnamon.

“Sounds to me you’re showing the world exactly the sort of woman you are,” Kate said with a smile, as Allison explained spin the bottle. She left out the details of _who_ she’d kissed, because she didn’t particularly want to dwell on it herself.

Neither did Lydia, it seemed; she hadn’t texted Allison at all.

 _Sorry I had to bail_. Allison texted her. _Hope you had a good night_.

There was no reply. The idea of seeing Lydia at work made her anxious, but Allison couldn’t quite put her finger on why. It was just one stupid, drunken kiss. Not a big deal, in college. Scott had kissed Jackson, but the two of them weren’t skipping around, holding hands. Of course, Scott was grounded (according to Stiles, who was also grounded) so it wasn’t like he’d get the chance. Allison knew she’d gotten off lightly, grateful that she’d have to do something way more illicit than drink at a party to piss off Kate.

She wondered what Kate would have had to say about the kiss. A reasonable part of Allison said she wouldn’t care if she were told, but at the same time, she felt like _someone_ should make a big deal about it. Not that Allison thought it meant more. She didn’t. It was just ... she missed her friend.

They _were_ friends, right?

\--

Allison spent much of her winter break serving up eggnog lattes. It was quiet, save for the days where she was training the new hire, Liam, who had already punched the espresso machine so vigorously with his fist that it had a smear of blood on it. After a week of his explosive exploits, she was grateful to have Stiles’ breezy antics back.

“Allison! Your _girlfriend_ is here,” Stiles said, making air quotes with his fingers.

Groaning, Allison ducked behind the espresso machine at the familiar clack of Lydia’s heels. She was dressed as stylishly as she ever was, in a white miniskirt which flared out when she walked, and a black and white striped sweater with light green banding around the collars and cuffs. Her hair was held back, a white tie scarf pulling her bangs off her face. Jackson wore his usual argyle. Perhaps it was her imagination, but the pair didn’t seem to be standing as close as usual, and Lydia’s arms were folded over her chest.

“She’s _not_ my girlfriend,” Allison protested.

“Girl. Also, friend. Ergo, girlfriend?”

 _Oh_. Of course. She was being far too defensive; Stiles didn’t have enough of a social circle to have known about the kiss, no matter how quickly gossip spread through Beacon Hills. Allison shrugged one shoulder and took a step to her left, peeking out from the machine and offering Lydia a half-wave. Immediately, Lydia took a step closer to Jackson and whispered something in his ear.

“I’m not even sure we’re _friends_ ,” Allison said, then picked up the cloth from the sink and resumed wiping up a spill on the counter.

She cast a sly look to where Lydia and Jackson stood, and Jackson laughed voraciously at something Lydia said as they linked arms and sat down on _their_ sofa. In response, Allison sighed and turned her attention to the floor, where a sticky patch of something Stiles had spilled demanded her attention.

Well, whatever. If Lydia was willing to cold-shoulder her for following the rules of a silly party game and having the temerity to look out for Scott, then she didn’t need the kind of _friendship_ Lydia provided.

\--

By the time January rolled around and Allison had spent her New Year’s Eve watching horror movies with her aunt, she’d got past her forced apathy towards Lydia. Now, she was just angry. It hadn’t been her idea to play spin the bottle. Lydia had willingly _invited_ her to the party, and Lydia had willingly invited her to play the game, and handed her drinks, even. Strong drinks! If that was what had made things weird? Well, that wasn’t on Allison’s shoulders. No, it was squarely on Stiles for his stupid scotch bottle, and on Lydia’s for her stupid party.

After telling Stiles as such, Allison was feeling very righteous about all of this when she spotted Lydia and Jackson again. Strangely, they seemed even more distant than they’d been the last time she’d spotted them. Lydia, wearing a beautiful coat Allison had eyed on the J Crew website, slammed her patent red purse on the counter. Jackson followed her at less frantic a pace, rolling his eyes at whatever she had said when they’d first come in.

“A grande nonfat, coffee-free vanilla freddo,” Lydia said, and Allison resisted a frown. Not even a hello?

“Same.” Jackson nodded. “We got our teeth whitened for Christmas.”

“An icy drink fit for an icy queen,” Stiles muttered. It was strange in its own right that he hadn’t added any innuendo, or rushed to take Lydia’s drinks order while looking like he wanted to pour said drink over Jackson’s head.

(Although pouring drinks over people’s heads had been more _Liam’s_ style. Allison had breathed a very large sigh of relief when he’d not turned up for work for his past two shifts, then texted her to say that he’d wanted to hand in his notice, but he’d never actually met the mysterious Derek who was apparently his boss.)

Allison set about the process of making the drinks, which was now as easy as breathing. She might not drink the stuff, but _oh_ could she make it. Although to be fair, what Lydia had asked for was pretty much iced vanilla milk. Why her customers couldn’t ask for iced milk was beyond her comprehension; it would be much easier for everyone.

“Oh my god,” she heard Lydia say. “Look at that hoodie Kira’s wearing. Someone needs to set her up with Scott.”

Trying to tune her out, Allison focused on the noises around her: the faint chatter of the few other customers at The Grind; the churn of the blender, and the clink of her opening a new bottle of the vanilla syrup. If Lydia wasn’t even going to be civil, then Allison  owed her nothing. Lydia didn’t want a new best friend? Good. Neither did _she_. After fixing their drinks, Allison banged the set of to-go cups down on the counter, a salute of icy foam escaping through the hole in the lid. She reached for two large straws and punched them through the lids with a satisfying snick.

“Hm.” Lydia looked at the cup as though it were some sort of creature from a hellmouth. “You’re not very good at following orders.”

“Huh?” Jackson’s brow was creased, making him look more than a little Cro Magnon.

“ _She_ put 2% in my drink,” Lydia explained. “I can smell the calories from here.”

“Like you care. The weight all goes to your boobs anyway,” Jackson reached for the cup and took a slurp, his lips puckering around the straw. “Mm. This isn’t bad at all, Addison.”

“It’s _Allison_ ,” she said, pointing at the nearly-correct name badge she wore.

Jackson handed her a ten. “Keep the change,” he said. As he handed over the cash, Allison could hear him mutter, “I don’t know what your problem is.”

For one terrifyingly glorious moment, Allison swore she saw Lydia direct a grimace of pure, unadulterated loathing pass across her features and toward Jackson’s neutral expression before she swept her tongue over her oh-so-white teeth and reached into her purse for her tube of lipgloss. (Peach pink, and why did Allison’s heart try and leap out of its chest?)

“I’m so sorry.” Allison said. She looked over her shoulder, noting with mild horror that she _had_ used 2%. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately. I’ll make you another, straight away.”

“Why do we even bother _coming_ here?” Jackson said.

“Because it’s the only independent coffee place in Beacon Hills. You know how I feel about the ethical stance of Starbucks.”

“I’m really sorry,” Allison reiterated. “Genuine mistake. I’ll -- I’ll throw in a free pastry, too! Cheesecake bites! They’re white. You’re allowed those with your,” she pointed at her own, slightly-less-white teeth. “Right?”

“Like she’d want a pastry if she ordered _fat-free_ drinks,” Jacksons said. “Seriously, you’re way snappy today. Are you on your period or something?”

Lydia’s mouth curved into a smile and she set a hand on Jackson’s arm. “It’s okay. We’re going to the skating rink later, remember? We’ll burn it off.”

“That skating shit’s for chicks.” Jackson turned to Allison with a wink. “You know what _else_ burns it off?”

Without missing a beat, Lydia grasped the to-go cup from the counter with her right hand, tore of the lid with her left, and swiftly dumped the contents of her not-quite-nonfat freddo over Jackson Whittemore’s buzzcut. Allison felt her mouth hang open as the viscous, icy liquid dripped down his cheekbones and slowly turned his button-up see-through.

From behind them, Stiles whistled. “That would be quite the view if I liked them tall, dark and douchey.”

Lydia still smiled. _Khaleesi_ came to mind again. Lydia looked like she could have commanded an army right at that very moment. Some of the drink had splattered onto her sweater but she flicked it off with her watermelon-pink nails as though it were a particularly insistent ladybug. There was no anger behind her gaze at all. Reaching for the other cup, Jackson visibly flinched, but Lydia merely put her _glossy, oh my god so glossy lips_ around the straw and raised an eyebrow.

“You were right, Jackson,” Lydia said. “Not bad at all.”

“I don’t know why I ever, ever dated you,” Jackson said, rubbing at his head. “You’re not only frigid, but you’re a fucking _psycho_.”

Turning to him, Lydia narrowed his eyes. “And you’re going to get another impromptu ice bucket challenge if you don’t leave." She snapped her fingers. "Now.”

Allison looked between the pair of them. “I’ve got some spares in the back room.”

“See? Even _she’s_ taking my side.”

 _Come on, Allison. Grow a pair_. “Actually,” she said, realising that as douchey as he was, Jackson did have very nice abs. “The spares are for Lydia. Can’t have her walking home in wet clothes.”

“Whatever,” Jackson said, and walked off without giving either of them a second glance.

Lydia flicked her hair, a small scatter of the frozen beverage flying through the air. “Can you do one more little thing for me.”

“Anything.” Allison said, without thinking.

“I’ll take three of the cheesecake bites.”

“Stiles?” Allison said, hoping that this was one of the few times her friend would actually follow instructions rather than continue to stir the already well-stirred pot. “Can you show Lydia to the back room while I clean up this mess?”

Without even questioning her motives -- not that Allison was quite sure what her motives were -- Stiles nodded, but not before he grabbed one of the cheesecake bites from the counter and popped it into his mouth. Lydia Martin was talking to her again, and despite the hassle of cleaning up sticky dairy product from the already-sticky floor, Allison didn’t feel the swathe of apathy that usually surrounded her like a swamp when she was facing a twelve hour shift at The Grind with only top 40 radio and Stiles’ strange concoctions for company.

\--

A good while later, after serving some polite customers who tipped her more than adequately (perhaps it was their new year’s resolution?) Allison was finally able to take a break. It was perhaps a little underhand, letting Stiles spend some time with Lydia in the back office uninterrupted, but perhaps that was the mature thing to do? Lydia was so boy crazy that she needed someone a little more substantial than Jackson to sink her manicured paws into, and objectively she knew that Stiles was attractive, even if puppy-dog eyes and a cheeky grin didn’t do it for her.

“Stiles!” she shouted. “Can you take over?”

Stiles instantly bounded up to the counter, a huge grin fixed on his face. He raised an eyebrow at the four cheesecake bites on the plate, and immediately took another one. “Sure,” he said, mouth full. “I’ll hold the fort.”

No sooner had Allison walked into the back room with a mug of warm (nonfat) milk and a the plate of cheesecake bites when she heard the familiar strains of The Offspring’s ‘She’s Got Issues.'

“Sorry about him,” Allison said immediately.

Lydia tilted her head up and frowned at her. In spite of her presence, she looked small, sat on the desk chair wearing one of the spare leather jackets Derek left lying around for the times when the space heater wasn’t quite cutting ameliorating his cold-blooded tendencies. “He’s not so bad,” she said, softly. Then she raised an eyebrow. “This room’s really a little terrifying.”

“A little?” Allison laughed. The room was dingy, a low-watt lightbulb hanging from the ceiling which did little to add interest to the dove grey walls which had black and white photographs of abandoned theme parks and cemeteries. _Urban decay_ , Derek called it; even to Allison, that meant nothing to her other than a cosmetics brand. The few occasions she'd been stuck here taking inventory it had been beyond bleak, but the place was that little bit brighter with Lydia there.

“Okay, _more_ than a little. Who’s your boss, Hannibal?”

Allison sat down on the chair and smiled. “That would involve eating people. I don’t think Derek would feel comfortable with that level of human contact.”

“Point,” Lydia said. “I don’t trust people who aren’t on Facebook. Look, Allison. It’s _my_ turn to apologise. I’ve not had the best few weeks since my party. It wasn’t fair of me to take it out on a good friend.”

“You and Jackson seemed fine at the party, though?" Allison said, leaning back against her chair.

“We weren’t fine. We’re _never_ fine.” Lydia said, seeming to straighten in her seat.

Allison had told Stiles that anything he could find in the back room was okay to offer to Lydia, so as well as one of Derek’s battered-up leather jackets, she wore an old dress of Allisons. It was tribal print with long sleeves and a high neckline. On Allison, it was oversized, because she was an A-cup. It clung to Lydia’s more ample assets. With her hair tied back and her lips glossy enough to be seen from space, Lydia looked a little bit like she should be on the cover of one of those cheesy Sweet Valley High novels her high school friends had read back when they were kids.

“Can Lydia play Bruce Patman’s game and win?” Allison said, testing the waters.

Lydia actually giggled. She _giggled_. “I never have pegged you for a Sweet Valley fan.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder; the ends were a little bedraggled from where the drink had saturated them earlier, but her hair game was still on point. “Swap tennis for lacrosse and there’s really not much difference.”

“So were you more of an Elizabeth or a Jessica?"

“I’m clearly a Lila.” Lydia took a sip of her drink. “Every girl’s envious of my style, my family works in I.T., and I haven’t seen my father since high school graduation.” At Allison’s incredulous look, she continued. “I made valedictorian. The last I heard, Daddy was asking the vice principal if it was some sort of senior prank. I know, I know. Poor little rich girl with her 5.0 GPA. At least I _have_ parents.”

Allison stood up. “I’ll always miss my mom. But that doesn’t mean your problems don’t count. I can see through that façade, remember?”

Lydia nodded. “Then you probably figured that me and Jackson _were_ fine. But we’d been dating for over a year, and never got _past_ fine. He was a fun high school boyfriend, but it’s time to move on.”

“Relationships just need to end sometimes,” Allison said, trying to push down the fist punch of success in her gut as she easily lifted the chair she was sat on and moved it over to where Lydia was sat.

“And you’re an expert? Have you ever even dated anyone?”

“Yes.” Allison said, sitting down. “He was on the gymnastics team with me. We dated for a month.”

“Okay.” Lydia raised an eyebrow, running her fingertip along the edge of her mug. “No offense, but I’m not going to take relationship advice from you any time soon. You know, your fashion sense might be tragic in more ways than one --” her eyes lingered upon Allison’s necklace which Allison instinctively covered with her hand, “--but you’re still really hot. You should date.”

“Oh yeah, they’re lining up.” Allison tried not to sound too bitter. Nineteen was too young to be an old maid. _Just_.

“Scott likes you.”

“He told you that?” Allison said, although she wasn’t that surprised given Mrs. McCall’s knowing reaction to her. It was actually adorable, that he discussed girls with his mom. The idea of him still didn’t exactly fill her with butterflies, though.

“We talk. He’s hot enough to be seen with me.” Lydia’s gaze was boring holes into her.

“I didn’t know you were friends,” Allison said. Maybe butterflies were another myth, or maybe they didn’t emerge from their chrysalis until you gave things a shot? “He’s ... quiet. But he seems nice.”

Lydia nodded. “He is. I’ve known him since high school; he’s on the lacrosse team with Jackson. I always throw him invites, but he says he doesn't want to upset Stiles.”

“Oh,” Allison said.

“So what do you say? Go to the game with him or something?”

“No thanks.” Allison picked at the hem of her apron. Why was Lydia _staring_ so much? “He seems nice, and cute, but I don’t really ... feel it. I suppose I don’t feel empty enough in my life that I need to start being one of those girls who’s obsessed with dating the first cute guy who comes along."

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those _I read so I’m better than sluts types_.” Lydia pulled a face, then took a sip of her drink before continuing. “I’d prefer to stay friends.”

So they were friends. Allison beamed. “No. I don’t think I’m better than anyone.”

“You probably should,” Lydia pointed out. “You are my friend, after all.”

“I just ... don’t want a boyfriend right now. That’s all.”

Lydia made a _hmm_ , then picked up a cheesecake bite, breaking it in half and popping it in her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully, then reached for the next bite and placed it in her mouth, whole. “Why do I have to like boys?” she said, once she’d swallowed.

Allison shrugged. “Hormones?” she said, thinking of the handful of young adult fiction books she’d read. She'd realised long before her teenage years that _gross guy cooties_ would interfere with friendships. “Socialisation, I guess. I mean, have you ever seen a movie -- not starring Melissa McCarthy -- about a girl who’s focused on anything else?”

Lydia blew on the top of her drink with very full lips. “Have you heard of the Sexy Lamp Test?”

“Is that one of those weird Sporcle things?”

“Nope. It means that a movie -- or any other form of media -- is worthless to women if you can get rid of its protagonist and replace her with a sexy lamp. Really, with Jackson ...”

“It’s not just movies ...” Allison muttered, then looked across to Lydia who was staring up at the ceiling. Her chest was moving unevenly, her fingers clutching the handle of her mug hard, the top set of her knuckles turning white. “You’re really upset about him, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know if upset’s the right word, Allison. More ...”

“Angry,” Allison said.

A soft, beautiful smile formed on Lydia’s face, She exhaled slowly, then her bright smile was focused all on Allison to the point where Allison’s chest started to tighten. “And that’s why you’re my favourite,” she declared.

“Thanks.” Allison didn’t quite know how to respond, and she was fairly sure she was blushing. She liked being someone’s favourite. Other than being her aunt’s favourite niece, she wasn’t sure if she had been anyone's favourite anything before. “I ...” she trailed off wordlessly.

“Look, I have to go.” Lydia scraped her chair back and stood up, removing the leather jacket of Derek’s and hanging it over the back of the chair. “I have a book on reserve, and I only have a few hours to go get it.” She picked up her large purse. “I’ll return this --” she said, gesturing to the dress she was wearing, “-- tomorrow.”

“No rush. Besides, you wear it much better,” Allison said, and let her out the back door. An icy gust hit her straight away. “Are you sure you don’t want to wear my boss’ jacket out? He won’t mind. He probably won’t even notice.”

“I’ll be fine,” Lydia said, her hair blowing a little in the breeze. If she was at all uncomfortable in the cool winter weather, there was no indication. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”

Allison shivered and shot her a wave. Lydia had turned around and was walking down the stone steps when Allison remembered. “Oh! One last thing!” Lydia stood still. “Can you tell Scott that I’m not interested? I feel like I’m breaking his heart accidentally.”

Turning around, Lydia swished her hair and waved goodbye with the tips of his fingers. As she strutted away, she shouted back, “This isn’t the eighth grade. Tell him yourself!”

As usual, Allison let Lydia have the last word.  She closed the back door behind her and dashed over to the space heater, firing it up to its maximum and wriggling a little on the spot to warm herself up. She pretended not to notice the really awful life drawing student’s mural that Derek had hung on the ceiling and acquiesced to in return for a plug on “some social networking thing or another.”

“Back to work,” Allison muttered, walking back out to the counter area and trying not to grin when she saw Stiles doing his best attempt to create a mosh pit to the infuriatingly catchy Bloodhound Gang song playing. The attempt was actually rather good, considering he was the only other person in the entire store.

\--

As the month drew to an end and the temperature began to warm up a little, Allison and Lydia started hanging out more often. Not just at The Grind or at the occasional lacrosse team party (grudgingly, Stiles had made the team hence no more sneaking around was required) but doing _girly_ things, like bowling, or watching movies, or even braiding each other’s hair. Allison was probably closest with Stiles, and could hold a conversation with Scott (she was putting off _that_ talk) but Lydia was rapidly approaching what everyone else tended to perceive as a BFF.

That was, well. It was weird. But it was also really cool.

Aunt Kate teased her about the fact every conversation topic rolled back around to Lydia, but her aunt just didn't seem to get how much a true friendship meant to her. It helped Allison feel like she'd finally found a place to call home.

The thing was, Allison always felt like the other shoe was about to drop, although she couldn’t figure out why. It was like a mosquito at her ear that she couldn’t swat, and whenever Lydia would press into her space and wrap an arm around her asking her what was the matter, she’d merely bluster her way through a series of, “Nothings,” until Lydia dropped the subject and went back to holding fabric swatches against their faces.

\--

“Stop dressing like a Winter,” Lydia said, tossing aside the white dress shirt that Allison had thought was one of her staples. She walked to Allison’s closet and pulled out a pair of dark brown moleskin skinny jeans. “You’re an autumn. Earthy. Fiery. _Spicy_. I’ve never seen you in these.”

“I ...” Allison shook her head. “I wore them to work, once. Stiles said I looked like Groot.”

“You probably misheard him. He probably had a mouthful of food and said ‘great’.”

"No. We'd been discussing the movie. I'm fairly sure he said Groot."

Lydia tossed her a burgundy top. “Your new work outfit,” she said, with a nod. “Aprons are for losers. It’s not like you really serve drinks at that place.”

Frowning, Allison changed into the outfit and did a little twirl, and her eyes widened as she looked in the mirror. _Wow_. She'd never have thought of that combination, but it made her eyes pop. Whatever the occasional feeling of unease was, Allison could do nothing but wait it out. While she waited it out, she was going to take full advantage of having Lydia Martin as her BFF.

\--

So naturally, one of the advantages of having a BFF was the shopping trips -- Lydia was a pro at TJ’s and Allison was surprised by how much of her friend's wardrobe came from Forever 21 -- but Lydia was also willing to experiment with new activities. One day, she asked Allison what she’d like to do. It was sunny out, with only a slight crisp bite to the air that seemed still under bright blue skies, and Allison knew _exactly_ what she wanted to do.

"Have you ever tried archery?" Allison said.

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Merida."

"I've always thought of myself as more of a Katniss," Allison said.

"Ugh. I'm far too hot to be Peeta. I call Gale." Lydia smoothed down her skirt. "So, when can we go?"

That very same afternoon, Allison clapped her hands as she walked across one of the school’s sports fields, gesturing at the archery targets set up on the chainlink fence twenty yards away. Perhaps a little ambitious for a beginner, but her gut said Lydia would relish a challenge.

“I cannot believe you do this,” Lydia said, after Allison had rigorously gone over some basic theory and technique so Lydia could use the compound bow she’d lent her. “Do you like to dress up as an elf on weekends or something?”

Allison resisted the temptation to poke her. Concentration was important, as was safety. “It was _you_ who said I looked good in fall colours!”  

“You do.” Lydia said quickly. “Doesn’t mean it’s not a weird hobby.”

“My aunt taught me when I was a kid,” Allison said. “It’s my favourite hobby.”

“Why?”

Allison should have expected the interrogation, remembering their conversations when they’d first met, as well as Lydia's questioning at her winter bash. “One of the things I always liked about gymnastics and this is ... I don’t know. There’s a zone. You pick up the bow or get up on that balance beam and all that matters is nailing the steps. Once you know how, it feels like you can do anything with it. You get in the zone where you can hit the target, or nail that dismount, because you know it’s perfect.”

Lydia turned her head to stare.

Alison smiled, feeling it waver at the edges. “What?”

“When they say beware the quiet ones, they’re talking about you.” Lydia smiled. “I mean that as a compliment, by the way.”

“Thanks?” Allison tapped the upper limb of Lydia’s bow. “Here, let me show you how to hold it again. You're just a little off.”

She took the bow from Lydia, taking her time to show the proper way to stretch the arm and draw before handing it back. As fast a study as Lydia was, it still took a few minutes of readjusting. To do this, Allison put her fingers on Lydia’s, skimming her hands down smooth skin, dropping a hand against the curve of Lydia’s lower back to perfect her posture. Allison didn’t remember teaching beginners being this handsy before. She hastily tucked her hands in her pockets to warm them up once Lydia seemed to have gotten the hang of the basics.

“Now I shoot?” Lydia said.

“First, arrow.” Allison handed her one, and explained how to string and draw it. “Aim a little up from where you want to hit, so you can adjust for gravity.” Watching Lydia’s face turn a little competitive, Allison found her enthusiasm contagious, and gave her some more smatterings of advice before stepping back, and letting Lydia do her thing. She didn’t want to intimidate Lydia with her own skill so she held back, just watching her friend get to grips with the sport.

Lydia didn’t say a word as she failed to hit the target first time, the arrow lodging into the tarp covering the chainlink. The way she held herself, gaze cool and focused, arm sure and steady, she looked like a princess warrior. Allison retrieved the arrow, and watched Lydia go again. This time, she made a small grunt as she released her bow, grinning as the arrow landed fairly close to the middle of the target.

“Nice!” Allison clapped her hands, grinning. “You’re a natural.”

“I’m _nearly_ there,” Lydia said, teeth gritted with determination.

Allison fetched the arrow again, and they continued like this for a few more draws.

“I’m impressed,” Allison said, after Lydia had finished her round and Allison had placed the compound bow back in its case. “What were you muttering to yourself, by the way?”

“Equations.” Lydia tossed her hair back. “There’s so much science behind the motion of it.”

“That’s so cool!” Allison considered the target, which had definitely taken a beating from Lydia’s new-found talents, and smiled at Lydia. “You should write some of them out for me. I’d love to see.”

“At lunch,” Lydia promised, then snapped her fingers at the case. “I want another arrow, please.”

Bending down to extract the bow again, Allison grinned. “Yes ma’am.”

\--

The following week, Allison was out grocery shopping for her aunt, who had decided that jambalaya was exactly the sort of PMS-survival food their synchronised hormones were crying out for. Though she was happy to run errands, they were happening with far too much frequency. When Allison hit her twenty first birthday and was able to buy alcohol, she had a feeling it would get even worse.

She’d checked off tomatoes and celery and was just examining the bell peppers, turning them one way and another when she heard someone call her name.

“Hey!” Scott jogged over, a basket on his arm filled with three packs of ramen, some sour patch kids, and some barbecue sauce. “How are you!”

Allison raised an eyebrow. “Do you have your inhaler?” she said, because he seemed a little breathless, if not _asthma-attack_ breathless. “I’m fine. How are you? I don’t think I’ve seen you since the last party.”

“It’s cool.” Scott looked away a little; the incident was likely still mortifying to him. “I’m keeping my inhaler way closer.” He patted his jeans pocket, then shuffled a little on his feet. “Uh. So. I’ve been thinking ... “

Dropping the somewhat satisfactory pepper in her own cart, Allison sighed. She had procrastinated this all through their spring semester, and now it was going to bite her in the ass. Scott was going to ask her out. _Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap_. How could she turn him down nicely? She didn’t want to upset him; he was such a sweet guy, and he’d definitely take no for an answer.

“I’ve been acting like an idiot, and ... you’re really nice, and ...” Scott bit down on his lip. He really was cute, even if it still wasn’t making her feel much other than sympathy. Maybe she should give him a chance? “Stiles told me I should just go for it, uh ... not that I need Stiles to tell me what to do, ‘cause ...”

“Scott.” Allison took a few steps forward to the green onions and dropped a bunch into her cart. “Relax,” she said, her smile fading as Lydia’s disappointed face popped into her mind.

“Right. Okay, I got this.” Scott cleared his throat. “Would you like to go out for dinner with me, sometime?”

“Sure.” Allison fought past a sudden urge of -- something. Scott was nice. Scott was cute. Scott had Lydia’s seal of approval, and Lydia -- no. This was _not_ about Lydia. Allison smiled at Scott, hoping it didn't look like a grimace. “This Friday? I don’t have class.”

“Me neither.” Scott beamed at her. “I’ll send you details on Facebook, okay?”

“Okay,” Allison replied.

They stared at each other for a few moments longer, Allison wondering if Scott was waiting for more before he suddenly looked down at his basket and startled. “Oh yeah, I gotta go pay for these. See you!”

When Allison was checking out, she noticed the cashier looked vaguely familiar. She looked Korean, with huge eyes and shiny dark brown hair that was half-contained in a messy bun. Annoyingly, she wasn’t wearing a name tag which would have helped Allison place her. She seemed a little lost in thought, but not so much that she didn’t notice Allison staring at her, rather than packing her bags full of groceries. “Is something the matter, ma’am?”

“No,” Allison blushed, putting the cantaloupe in the bottom of her bag. She hoped it wouldn’t split on her way home. “Sorry, you just look familiar. Do you go to the university?”

“Yes.” The girl stared back at her and smiled. “You were at Lydia Martin’s party. You left with Stiles. I ... think?”

“That’s right, you’re Kira.” Allison nodded, remembering her from the game of spin the bottle. Did all the beautiful people at this school congregate together or something? “Yes, I left with Stiles and his friend, Scott. Do you know him?”

“We’ve talked a few times. He buys groceries a lot.” Kira looked down, fiddling with the oranges as she sought out the price sticker. “He’s nice. Do you think he’s nice?”

“Yeah.” Allison figured she might as well embrace the truth of the matter, shoulders straightening. The last thing she wanted was a rumour going around that she was into Stiles. “We’re going out this Friday, actually. Me and Scott.”

“Oh.” Kira scanned the oranges hastily, dropping them a little too roughly as she set them down. “Have fun. He’s very ... nice.”

“That’s what they tell me,” Allison said, noticing Kira was turning a little pink at the tops of her cheeks.

“That’ll be thirty-five sixty-seven,” Kira read off from the register, and Allison paid up and gathered up her groceries. “Have a nice day!” Kira said, not quite meeting her eye.

“You too!”

Allison left the store feeling as settled as she could. She’d made a date with a nice boy, and met what seemed to be a very nice girl. So many nice people there were in Beacon Hills, and wasn’t that what she needed in life? More nice people? It would all work out. Nicely.

Grinning, Allison enjoyed her awful pun. If only Lydia had been there gain evidence of her appalling sense of humour.

\--

That night, after the rice and vegetables had filled her stomach with jambalaya goodness, Allison went to her room and chatted to Lydia on her messenger, telling her that she and Scott were going out for dinner. She’d never really been on a _date_ date before. Her boyfriend on the gymnastics team had pretty much been one of the girls, and had joined them all for movie nights. They’d had a few pecks, but not much more. So, she asked Lydia for advice -- should she offer to pay? Should she let _him_ pay? Should she suggest a restaurant given the lack of promise Scott’s basket at the grocery store had shown with regards to his culinary preferences?

Lydia’s only reply was a noncommittal _hmm_ before she started talking about the latest episode of _Outlander_ and how stupid it was for girls to sit blindly back and go with the easy option when there was someone waiting in the wings to sweep them off their feet.

 _Huh_. There it was, again. That persistent feeling that the other shoe -- a high-heeled, suede wedge boot type of a shoe -- was about to drop.  

\--

A day later, Lydia came into The Grind on her own. She had a stack of astrophysics textbooks in her arms, and set them down on the counter. Her heels towered, her minidress showed off every inch of toned thigh to perfection, and her lips were brighter than her perfectly-styled red hair. _Fierce_ seemed inadequate, somehow. She appraised Allison, raising one eyebrow.

“Smile, Allison.”

Allison raised an eyebrow in response.

“What, did some creep hit on you again?” Lydia said with a laugh, but it sounded a little hollow. “I get creeps hitting on me all the time at work. Tell you the truth? It makes those thirty hours a week just a little bit brighter.”

“Huh. I didn't know you had a job.”

“At the library,” Lydia said, her eyes narrowing. “I might be a trust fund kid, but that doesn’t make me an entitled brat,” she snapped back.

“Of course you’re not,” Allison said, wondering where the hell _that_ had come from. “I never said you were.”

“You’re surprised people hit on me?”

Allison placed her palms to her cheeks, feeling them heat her hands. “No. Not at all. I’m just ... You're in college?”

“I am. I’m in a very _good_ college.” Lydia sort of sneered at her, then reached for one of the cinnamon candies from the bowl on the counter and unwrapped it, before popping it into her mouth. “You are, too, and you have a pathetic little side job. Why can’t I have one?”

Reaching for the empty wrapper, Allison crunched it between her fingers before scrunching it into a small ball, needing to do something with her hands. She _really_ wanted to tell Lydia she sounded like all the worst parts of Jackson rolled into one, but quelched the urge. There was no need to make this worse.

“These candies suck.” Lydia said, but didn’t make a move to spit out her sweet.

“I work because I’m trying to afford school." Allison said. "I didn’t think you needed to worry about that, and I know your grades are higher than mine and Stiles’ put together.”

Lydia snorted. “That’s not hard. Stiles’ GPA combined with yours would put the median well into negative figures.”

“I thought you wanted to focus on school.” Allison threw the wrapper of the candy into the trash can under the counter. “That was all.”

“I am focused.” Lydia crossed her arms across her chest, the movement pushing out her breasts, soft skin visible over the neckline of the demure-by-Lydia’s-standards dress. “I can multitask. Green tea frappé.”

“Green ... tea ...?”

Lydia clicked her fingers and gestured to the specials board. “It’s a drink on your menu.” Lydia was glaring, honestly glaring. “And get on it. I have to get to class before I go to work.”

“Fine. Okay ...” Allison trailed off, setting to work.

As she brewed the tea, she tamped down her hurt by whistling along to the radio, which was playing -- oh crap -- the song she remembered from Lydia's party way back in December. ‘Just a Little Bit’, she remembered it was called. Despite the suggestive lyrics reminding her of that evening, despite the fact her hands were shaking, she was fairly sure Lydia would appreciate Allison taking her time and care over her job. And she'd been nothing but honest. Complimenting Lydia's performance and focus was a good thing, right? So why was her friend so mad at her?

“What's taking you so long? Are you plucking the leaves yourself?"

“I _love_ this song,” Allison said, ignoring Lydia’s comment. “Who did you say it was again?”

Drumming her left hand on the counter, Lydia stifled a yawn with her right as Allison continued to work on making the frappé pretty perfectly, if she did say so herself. “Here you are,” Allison said, handing over the drink.

Lydia paid the exact amount, and without casting a further glance Allison’s way, placed a bill into the tip jar. She took her drink from Allison’s outstretched hand with a tiny tilt of her head. “Thank you,” she said, then stalked off, the door chiming like a warning on her way out.

Allison was secretly pleased -- not by the behaviour which Elsa from _Frozen_ herself would have called a little on the cold side -- but for the fact she didn’t notice the hypnotising sway of Lydia’s skirt and hair once. No, she was far more hung up on figuring out what in the fresh hell had just happened. Allison hadn’t said anything other than the truth, had she? She’d explained her stance; it wasn’t unreasonable. Allison herself only worked here because she had to. Lydia wasn’t shy about mentioning her parents’ money, either.

What was it, then? Allison thought back to their previous interactions, and all she could think of was her upcoming date with Scott. It was the only thing that had changed between them recently. Why on earth would Lydia get upset about Allison going on a date with _Scott_?

If chick lit had taught her anything, there was only one logical answer: Lydia liked Scott, therefore Lydia was jealous.

Crap.

\--

Allison nearly cancelled the date a dozen times, but at the end of the day, she knew the last thing she wanted to be was a coward. She would tell Scott to his face that they couldn’t date, because she didn’t like him like that, and it wasn’t worth ruining her friendship with Lydia over.

So Friday night she slipped on a long-sleeved dress and tights. By the time she'd realised it was the tribal print one Lydia had worn, and bit her lip thinking how nicely it had draped and dipped around Lydia's petite frame, she was already running late. She tugged on her cutest boots, checked her hair, thumbed her necklace for luck, then left with Aunt Kate’s blessing of, “Go get lucky!”

She and Scott met at the restaurant, which was student-budget-nice. His face lit up when he saw her. “You look really nice,” he said, then looked away shyly, and Allison felt nothing but miserable. She really didn’t want to break his heart. It was like playing keep-away from a child or baby animal. But it would be far worse if she led him on.

Especially knowing Lydia’s heart was on the line.

The date itself was nice. Despite the churning sensation in her stomach, Allison enjoyed herself -- if nothing else, she hoped Scott would still want to be friends, because he was fun to talk to. They laughed and shared stories of their programs and complained about various professors and it was, well, nice. That seemed to be the only way to describe things with Scott. Maybe fireworks were just fiction, but were no fizzle relationships fiction too? Sometime after they finished dinner and Scott was asking if she wanted dessert, she knew she had to strike.

“There’s this good cheesecake …”

“I’m sorry Scott. I can’t.”

“Can’t … get cheesecake?” Scott’s eyebrows knitted together. “Are you lactose intolerant?”

“Can’t do … this.” Allison waved between them. Scott’s face instantly crumpled, and Allison gritted her strength. As a prospective medical practitioner she’d have to get used to delivering bad news. “I’m sorry,” she rushed to add. “You’re a really great guy. But I’m just … can’t we just be friends?”

“Is there someone else?”

“What? No.” The back of her neck burned. “Actually, there is. Lydia -- I think she’s kind of jealous? And I don’t want to do anything to upset her. And I’d rather have you as a friend …”

Ugh, this was so awkward. Allison was remembering why she didn’t date.

“Lydia.” Scott put down the dessert menu, smoothing it over. “Stiles has been saying, but … I don’t know, it’s Stiles …”

“Stiles has been saying what?” Allison was confused. If Stiles thought Lydia was into Scott, wouldn’t he have been chatting her ear off about it?

“Nothing.” Scott sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, I’m the one who agreed to the date when I wasn’t sure …”

“No, no.” Scott closed his eyes, taking a breath, then reopened them. “I like you, Allison. I like you because I know you’re, you know, a cool person. I know you have good reasons for this. It’s just kind of hard to be all mature and adult about this right now, because, well.” He shrugged, lips pressed together.

“You don’t have to be mature,” Allison said. “You can storm out and curse my name. I’ll pay.”

Scott gave a startled laugh. “No way, I’m not a jerk like that. Just um, could we …” he shifted.

“What? Anything.”

“Pretend this never happened?” Scott sighed. “Stiles knows, and I guess Lydia, but um, could we not tell anyone else? And just be friends like it never happened?” His gaze turned pleading.

“Absolutely.” The knot in Allison’s chest started to unwind. “Though I did tell Kira too. Sorry.”

“Kira? The girl who works in the grocery store?” Scott looked surprised again. “She’s cool. That’s fine.”

“Okay. Then we’re good?” Allison crossed her fingers below the table, suspecting even if she was off base with Lydia, Scott wouldn't be single for long.

“Yeah, just um. Give me a few days to mope.” Scott looked back down at the dessert menu. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll skip dessert.”

“That’s fine.”

The date-turned-not-date ended as awkwardly as it has begun, and Allison was thankful they hadn’t come to the restaurant together. She really hoped it would smooth itself over more. This night out had just reinforced for her that Scott was a good guy, and she hoped that in the future, it would be way less awkward. After all, if Lydia was still mad at her, she was going to need another friend to talk to.

Unless. Would that be awkward too, if Scott decided to date Lydia?

Allison didn’t understand the ugly feeling that hit her at that. It felt a lot like jealousy. Maybe she was more territorial than she thought. Frowning, she headed home, finding Aunt Kate on the couch watching _Saw_.

“How was the date? Get any?” Kate waggled her eyebrows as Allison flopped down on the couch next to her, kicking off her boots.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Ouch.” Kate frowned. “I don’t need to hunt this guy down with a bowie knife, do I?”

“It wasn’t him,” Allison reassured her. “It was me.”

And Lydia, too, but Allison didn’t know how to explain that quite yet.

\--

Allison spent a few days moping around, before texting Lydia to tell her that her date bombed. Not even one hour later, Lydia showed up on her doorstep with her credit card and a smile.

“We’re going out for mani-pedis.”

“So we’re … okay?” Allison stared at Lydia. She was in good humours, and it was like their last fight hadn’t happened.

Lydia’s expression twitched for a moment, then smoothed over. “I’m sorry about that. It was a stressful day.” Lydia smiled, grabbing Allison’s hand and squeezing it. “Now, let me make it up to you with a pampering day.”

“I guess I need it, huh?” Allison stared down at her nail beds, which looks pitiful compared to Lydia’s perfect watermelon-pink nails. Lydia was always so perfectly put together, it struck her that Scott would be crazy to turn her down after Allison (who wasn’t nearly so flawless) had.

She pushed down that ugly feeling, turning her hand over to squeeze Lydia’s warm one in hers, smiling as her friend turned to her with a beautiful grin.

“Let’s go.”

After that, they were BFFs again, and Allison told herself to question it no further. She wouldn’t trade a minute in Lydia’s presence for anything else in the world, even answers to the questions plaguing her.

There was one question, though, she could take to the source.

\--

“What did you tell Scott?” Allison demanded, the moment a customer had given them both a weird look and left without tipping.

“Me? Tell Scott?” Stiles crossed his eyes as he thought, leaning against the counter at The Grind. “When we were kids I told him the moon ate people. I keep telling him to watch _Star Wars_. I _nicely_ recommended he switch majors. I --”

“About Lydia,” Allison said. Stiles’ expression turned lascivious, and she interrupted before he could even start. “On our date, I told him Lydia was jealous about me going out with him, and he said you said something.”

“Ohhh.” Stiles drew that out, eyes lighting up. “About your big lesbian crush on her?”

The world ground to a halt, Allison was pretty sure. _What?_ That was -- of all the harebrained things Stiles said -- her heart hammered against her ribs in anger. Anger, right? That was why she was feeling so flushed and hot and dazed? Almost like she had after that kiss with Lydia, peach-flavoured lip gloss tacky on her lips, Lydia’s delicate fingers winding into her hair …

“Hello? Earth to Allison? How is it on Venus?”

“I do _not_ have a big lesbian crush on Lydia!” Allison said this way too loud, but luckily, the shop was, as ever, near-empty. “Stop lying to Scott like that! We’re just friends!”

“I think the lady doth protest too much …” Stiles’ smirk widened. Allison sorely wished she had her favourite crossbow on her right then, so she could pin Stiles to the cappuccino machine and make her escape.

Wait. _Crossbow_. There was an idea.

“I’ll prove it.” Allison jabbed him in the chest. Stiles winced, rubbing at the spot. “I’ll invite you and Scott out to an excursion with her.”

“A date!” Stiles’ eyes lit up. “I get to go on a date with Lydia? Allison! I love you!”

“No,” Allison smirked right back. “You get to be the witness. I’m setting Scott and Lydia up. I think she likes him, and I know they’re friends, so he must like her.”

“I don’t think Scott is ready to date any time soon,” Stiles said solemnly. “I have to bring him CapriSuns as he hides out in his room and does his _homework_. It’s pathetic.”

“It’s time for him to wake up and see all the options he has,” Allison said. Her plan was _perfect_. Scott would see Lydia in her outing-with-Allison best and realize that he had been chasing the wrong girl all along. Then they would start dating and fall in love and get married and have beautiful children with big brown eyes who would hopefully inherit Lydia's jawline, and leave Allison the awkward friend third wheel with Stiles. Which was terrible, but some sacrifices had to be made, and she wanted Lydia to be happy.

“And why would I come along and watch you play matchmaker with the woman of my dreams and my best friend?” Stiles asked.

“Because you’re so desperate to spend time with Lydia that you’ll do anything?”

“Excuse you!” Stiles made several offended noises, pulling a face. Allison waited patiently, and surely enough, Stiles eventually wore himself out and sighed in agreement. “Okay. Fine. We’ll do this group date thing, but don’t be surprised if Lydia looks past Scott to see the best option for her.”

“I don’t think George Clooney is going to be there.”

“Me!” Stiles threw up his hands. “She’ll want me!”

“You _are_ a cute boy.” They both jumped, turning to find the blonde girl who came in occasionally staring at them. Allison had seen her coming in on-and-off; Stiles tended to handle her.

“Thanks, Malia.” Stiles waved at her. “See. Malia agrees with me.”

“And she’s not biased?”

“I am biased,” Malia said. “I’d have sex with Stiles.” That shut Stiles up. He turned wide eyes on Malia, who stared flatly back. “I’ll have my coffee now.”

“She’s all yours.” Allison patted Stiles on the back, and went to go arrange their fourway outing.

\--

Lydia insisted on something casual “and brightly lit with lots of exits, if I’m going to be near that Stiles guy” and so instead of a movie date, she settled for weapons instead. Allison took them down to the archery range with plans on getting lunch after, a normal excursion for her and Lydia. Her friend was getting very good at it, and Allison told herself the pride was purely a friendly one. A big lesbian crush. That was ridiculous. Wouldn’t Allison _know_ if she liked girls? Wouldn’t there be some huge blinking sign inside and above her head? Wouldn't this have happened _way_ before her twentieth year? Ridiculous.

It was hard to keep her thoughts from straying there though, as all four of them gathered down on the range. Scott didn’t sulk in Allison's presence, for which she was grateful, and soon they hit it off with talking about the hellish paper he had to write. Stiles, who claimed he had already finished said paper, kept trying to chat up Lydia who was focused on nothing other than firing her bow with stunning accuracy, her cinnamon hair blowing behind her in the gentle spring breeze.

Allison eventually wrangled Stiles and taught him and Scott the basics, and once they got the hang of it (with not as much touching from Allison as she would have thought, since teaching Lydia) she declared, “Competition time.”

“Girls against boys,” Lydia said immediately. “Whoever gets the most points win. Three arrows each.”

Allison was all set to agree, but then she guiltily realized she had been monopolizing Scott’s time when her actual intent was to push him into Lydia's orbit. “Actually, how about you and Scott against me and Stiles?”

Lydia’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded slowly. Scott blinked, then smiled, and Stiles groaned loudly.

“Don’t worry Stiles. With me on your team, we’ll beat them,” Allison said, coming around to Stiles’ target. Lydia laughed.

“We’ll see about that, Allison.”

“Do you really think the student can beat the master?” Allison grinned, holding up her own bow and loading it quickly. It was so comforting, in all her confusion about Lydia and Scott, to finally get to do something she was uncomplicatedly good at. With a quick glance to assess the target, Allison brought her bow up, aimed, and fired.

Bullseye.

“Wow!” Scott breathed. Even Stiles nodded his appreciation, and Lydia gave a signature toss of her hair before raising her own bow.

“Let’s see.”

Lydia got the middle too, though not as dead-centre as Allison.

“You’re good,” Scott told her.

Lydia smiled. “I know.”

Allison watched this exchange carefully, but it didn’t continue into the flirty repartee she'd hoped.

The battle that followed was mostly between her and Lydia, as neither Stiles or Scott were a real hand at archery, though they both approached it with zeal (and in Stiles’ case, a dangerous gleam to his eye.) Finally, Allison’s perfect bullseyes eked out the one of Lydia’s which just got into the second ring from the centre, and Scott and Stiles shot pretty evenly near the outer edges (and missing the target completely) so team Allison-Stiles won.

“Now that’s how we do it!” Stiles cheered, high fiving Allison. “I say losers pay for lunch!”

“C’mon man, I don’t have that much cash on me ...’ Scott said.

“Got debit, don’t you?” Stiles asked, and Lydia nailed him with a look.

“Nobody pays for me but me,” Lydia said. “But if you want to test that theory, keep talking.”

“You mean you’ll let me buy you lunch?” Stiles’ eyes went wide. “ _Awesome_ , absolutely, let’s do this -- uh --” he patted his pockets “-- Scott, you do have your debit right ...?”

Lydia huffed and wandered over to Allison, threading their arms together, pressing them close, the whiff of Lydia’s sweet perfume lingering as Allison inhaled sharply. Her breathing seemed to keep staggering throughout the meal that followed, the curve of Lydia’s calf pressed against hers in the diner, their elbows brushing. Allison kept trying to be good Matchmaker Friend despite her weird new problem -- she blamed Stiles for it -- but Scott and Lydia never did anything but chat in a friendly manner.

Were fireworks supposed to look like this?

\--

Scott and Lydia made no extra plans after lunch. Allison didn’t understand; if Lydia wanted Scott, she seemed the absolute last person to be shy about it. Allison had admired Lydia’s confidence since the day they met, and the Lydia who could march in and interrogate the barista shouldn’t have a problem with asking out a mere boy.

Maybe Lydia was playing hard to get, or some other chick lit thing Allison didn’t understand? Which left only one recourse: talk to Lydia like a mature friend would, and give her a blessing to date whichever boy she chose.

That might finally settle the uneasiness in Allison’s gut.

\--

They got together for a study date, books spread across Allison’s bed, music playing softly in the background, stealing highlighters and prodding each other with the eraser to pass it back and forth. It was one of those evenings in that Allison loved, where the apartment was quiet -- Kate tracking down a lead -- and just her and her friend, quietly enjoying each other’s company. At one point Allison glanced up to find Lydia just sort of _looking_ at her, pouting over the top of the highlighter as she seemed to consider Allison.

“What?” Allison asked, reaching over to snag the highlighter. Her knuckles brushed Lydia’s chin, and Lydia’s lashes lowered.

“So what did you think of the double date?”

“Double date?” Was this about the movie they watched before they started studying? Allison couldn’t remembering anything other than how small her aunt's laptop screen seemed, and how close Lydia had to lie next to her on the bed in order to watch it, her bare legs pressing against Allison's jeans-clad ones.

“You know. Scott and Stiles.” Lydia was still pouting, but then again, her mouth always kind of looked like that. Very soft and approachable and exactly what a mouth should look like. Allison struggled to raise her gaze, to where Lydia's gaze still lingered.

Then the words registered.

“That wasn’t a double date!” Allison said.

“So you’re telling me there _wasn’t_ something weird about you planning that out of the blue?”

“I just wanted to hang out,” Allison defended. “Unless … you felt it was like a date?”

“I don’t know.” Lydia shrugged. “I kind of used it like one. You spent a lot of time talking to Scott, so I suppose I might have nudged you along.”

“Sorry -- but -- no, I wasn’t trying to date Scott.” Allison shook her head. It was very important Lydia understand just how single Allison was if she was to pursue Scott. “I told you. The date bombed. I’m not into him.”

“Neither am I.” Lydia pulled herself closer, the low cut of her top tugging down more, and Allison’s mouth wobbled a little as the strap of her bra was exposed. “But I figured it must have been. Then again, there was also …” she raised an eyebrow.

"Stiles? No, no, not at all.” Allison heart was thumping. Lydia didn’t like Scott. Allison didn’t like Scott. She also didn’t like Stiles. Did Lydia ...? “Do you like ... Stiles?”

"No."

“Then …” Allison furrowed her eyebrows, desperately casting around for some kind of explanation. “If you don’t like Stiles, or Scott, why did you think it was a double date? Why not just think it was some weird date-with-friends thing?”

“Those two are kind of creepily close, don’t you think?” Lydia laughed.

“But if those two were one half …” Allison could find only one explanation and she didn’t believe it, couldn’t believe it, even though Lydia was staring straight into her and Allison was pretty sure the playlist had just hit Tegan and Sara's 'Closer', though she couldn’t hear much past Lydia’s soft inhale-exhale pattern. The sound calmed Allison down, and she managed to ask, “Who do you like, Lydia?”

“You.”

Allison dropped the highlighter, lips parting. Lydia seemed unfazed on the surface, but there was a little tension to her shoulders Allison already knew how to read. Lydia was serious. She was serious, and maybe this was the big blinking sign Allison needed, written all over Lydia’s sincere face.

“But you like boys!" Allison thought back to the party, and to the post-freddo-dumping incident. "You said, _Why do I have to like boys_?”

"I didn't say I didn't like girls. I just said I like boys."

It seemed so simple, and Allison laughed a little, sinking down into the bedspread. “You like girls. You like me. We -- we went on a _date_.”

“Not a real date,” Lydia said. “I haven’t had a real chance to dress up. We can change that this weekend, if you like.” Then she briefly frowned. “Unless I’m wrong -- and I’m rarely wrong -- and you don’t want to?”

“I want to!” Allison could have spent more time agonising about the fact that _big lesbian crush_ hadn’t turned out to be inaccurate, but instead of being scandalized or confused, Allison was just _relieved_. After weeks of uncertainty and stealing glances and touches and not understanding why she couldn’t unwrap her own feelings, here was Lydia unwrapping them for her. So it was easy to just breathe, “I … I think I like you too.”

“Of course you do.” Lydia leaned forward, and when had they even gotten that close? She smiled, a little wicked, and licked her glossy lips. "You can kiss me if you want to double check.”

Allison should have considered this too, should have spent time unravelling what it would mean to kiss Lydia Martin sober, but there were more important things to do, like kiss Lydia Martin sober. So she reached across and cupped Lydia’s face, fingertips tickled by the falls of Lydia’s perfectly styled hair, and swept in to kiss Lydia’s perfectly glossy mouth.

It was just as good sober. No, scratch that. Better. Allison let her eyes be pulled shut by the tugging pleasure which spread across her breastbone, lips parting and pressing closer into the yielding pressure of Lydia’s mouth. Lydia hummed, touching a hand to Allison’s wrist, and the ripples of heat radiated out in time with the pounding of her heart. Lydia kissed so well, so slick and hot and little teases of her tongue, and Allison could only breathe unsteady little gasps and try to keep up.

She must of, because they somehow ended up pressed even closer, hips as close to kissing and Lydia’s breasts brushing hers through that silky little chemise she was wearing, and they kept kissing until Allison was confident she could survive off only this.

That was, of course, when Aunt Kate walked in and whistled loudly.

“Hell- _o_ , Allison’s friend!” Kate said chirpily as Allison started apart from Lydia, staring wide-eyed at her favourite aunt in the world who seemed more intent on grinning widely than anything else. Lydia half-rolled over (the chemise slipping lower, revealing a hint of lacy forest green bra) to stare at Kate. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting.”

“Lydia Martin,” Lydia said. “You’re Alison’s aunt, right?”

“Got it in one.” Kate folded her arms, grin widening further still. “You’ve always been my favourite niece -- hell, family member -- Allison, and now I know why.”

“You …” Allison blinked. “You’re happy?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I am. I’m sorry for interrupting!” Kate reached over, snagging the wrist guard Allison had left on top of her bureau. “I’ll just take this and go leave the apartment in _total privacy_ for a while …”

“Have fun?” Allison tried.

“I should be saying that to you!” Kate winked. “Nice meeting you, Lydia.”

And whistling a jaunty tune, Kate left, making a great show of shutting the front door loudly as she went. Allison finally recovered from her shock, turning to Lydia. “My aunt’s a little weird.”

“And hot,” Lydia observed. “I can see the resemblance.”

“You think I’m hot?”

Lydia smirked. “Come here, and I’ll show you I do.”

Then it was back to kissing, Allison sliding on top of Lydia, Lydia rolling on top of Allison, their textbooks shoved to the floor so they stopped poking them in the back. Allison rocked her hips up as Lydia shifted her thigh, a strong silky press against the inside of Allison’s own thigh that she felt through her jeans, biting down on Lydia’s reddened and spit-slick bottom lip. The lip gloss was long gone, worn away between the frantic press of their mouths, but the peach smell lingered as Lydia curled her tongue against Allison’s and drew her fingertips down Allison’s already flush-tight skin. She felt tight everywhere, starting in her bellybutton leading down to her toes, cheeks hot and stretched as she kept laughing between kisses.

Lydia pulled away, kissing Allison’s cheek, her jaw. Her fingertips were still working down Allison’s arms, and Allison had somehow ended up with her hands on Lydia’s hips, pulling them down as she angled her own thigh up. She was dizzy and unsure of the technicalities but it all felt right.

“You’ve got such strong arms,” Lydia murmured throatily, kissing Allison’s neck. Allison’s eyes struggled to reopen, as she searched for the mental faculties to respond.

“Not very hot in a girl, I guess.”

“I told you,” Lydia dragged her mouth back up, bottom lip catching against the corner of Allison’s mouth, before she pulled back to stare down at Allison. Her hair had lost its curls and fell in total disarray around her face, and Allison was _definitely_ some kind of gay. “You’re hot. Your arms are hot. Everything about you is _so_ hot ...”

"Yeah?"

"Mmhm." Lydia kissed Allison again, sweetly, then pulled away and whispered filthily, “I’ll show you just how hot I think it is.”

Then Lydia was reaching down, sure hand grabbing Allison’s on her hip and guiding it down to the fabric between her legs, and Allison whimpered as she made contact with the edge of a very frilly pair of underwear covering satin-smooth flesh.  

It was safe to say the textbooks remained on the floor, and not a single additional word was highlighted that night.

\--

The next day at work Allison was so giddy and wound-up even Stiles was telling her to calm down. She couldn’t help it though, gaze shuttling continuously back to the door, waiting for the tell-tale clack of heels and sway of a skirt. They hadn’t really talked last night, before Lydia had had to go home, but they promised they would talk today.

Lydia arrived near two with a wiggle to her step that made Allison beam because she had put that there, last night. Indeed, she'd gotten more than one of her own.

“Hi,” Allison said shyly.

“Hi.” Lydia smiled slowly at her, then snapped her head around to scowl at Stiles. “Beat it.”

“I work here!”

“Then go work in the back. Polish a table or something.”

“Everything’s polished!”

“Go polish again.” Lydia glared until Stiles threw his hands up and obliged, disappearing into the back. It seemed awfully cooperative of him, but then he threw an exaggerated wink at Allison and she realised she was in for some major ribbing after Lydia left.

“So.” Allison leaned on the counter. “What’ll it be?”

“You.”

“Ah.” Allison blushed. “So last night was …”

“Oh, it was.”

“Because I’m pretty sure …”

“Yes.”

“Can we …?”

“Again? Yes”

Then Lydia reached across the counter and pulled Allison into a kiss, and Allison threw her arm out in surprise, knocking over a cup of stirrer sticks but ignoring the clatter so she could wrap her arm around the back of Lydia’s neck. It wasn’t the most comfortable kissing position, the counter digging into her stomach and having to stand on her toes to lean across better, but Allison didn’t feel like moving. It wasn’t like the rest of the coffee shop was more comfortable. Derek probably got all his furniture from the side of the road, after all.

“You’re so,” Lydia started between kisses, and Allison nodded frantically.

“Yes, yes, you too,” she was already surging into another kiss, shifting a little higher against the countertop and well, that almost felt kind of good. Allison moaned, loosening her grip so she could pull back and slide a hand into Lydia’s hair, other hand gripping the counter so hard she thought her fingers would cramp.

When they pulled apart, Allison couldn’t let go, finally setting back on her heels and blinking like Bambi on ice skates in the face of Lydia who looked equally undone before her. Lydia touched at her lip, rubbing at the lipstick a little until her natural pigmentation was visible. Her lips were raw, and slick, and when she licked them Allison felt herself throb where they'd licked her the night before.

“It’s a good job your coffee shop’s so empty,” Lydia said, fluttering her eyelashes.

Allison frowned. “I thought full-on was your style?”

Lydia gripped the front of her apron and pulled Allison over the bar again, sliding her lips across Allison’s cheek until they reached the curve of her jaw. She nipped at the tender skin of Allison’s neck and pulled away with a wet smack. “Oh, it is, I just -- mmm... I’ve been thinking about this all day, you’re so --” she leaned forward to whisper in Allison’s ear. “Damnit, Allison. Your creepy boss is right behind you.”

Springing back, Allison smoothed down her apron. “D-Derek,” she said, aware of her slight stutter. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m your boss,” Derek responded, book in hand as he walked around the counter. “That’s what I do.”

“Could have fooled me,” Lydia said cooly. “I haven’t seen you around all that much.”

Derek walked over to Lydia who didn’t wither one inch under his gaze. “Ah, so _that’s_ why you couldn’t pick up that extra shift.”

“Technically it was a _study_ date,” Allison muttered, folding her arms across her chest defensively. “My aunt Kate was there.”

Something seemed to click in Derek’s brain, and his eyes widened a little bit before he re-adopted his usual defensive stance. “Kate? Kate _Argent_?”

“You know my _aunt_?” Allison felt her jaw drop, in amongst the tingles that were still present from Lydia’s soft, sticky lips. “How do you know my aunt.”

Reaching into his pocket, Derek just handed her a business card. “I’ll let you know once you give her this.”

“Seems fair,” Allison said, wondering if perhaps Derek was really a private dick. God knows, he was certainly sneaky enough. “Sorry. I’ll get back to work straight away. Lydia here was just leaving.”

“No. I wasn’t.” Lydia informed the pair of them. “Allison, aren’t you due your break?”

Derek placed one hand on the counter and covered his mouth with his hand as he yawned. “Take your damn break,” he said, putting his book on the counter, face-down. “Spring break is coming, and I have a feeling it’s going to be a busy one. I don't need you two pulling in a crowd."

Lydia grinned up at him. “Shame. I'm fed up shelving books all day. Are you hiring?”

Gesturing in the empty shop, Derek gave her a frosty stare. The more he gave everyone that look, the more Allison was convinced he was either some sort of a mythical creature, else he was a down-on-his-luck college professor who had a run-down RV where he cooked meth with one of his dropout students. Really, the truth that the premises had been in the family for several generations and thus he paid no rent and didn’t really care about much other than covering the staff wages was far more prosaic so Allison was resolute in not believing that was the actual way of things.

“You’re hiring.” Lydia said, with a nod towards Allison. “And don’t put my last name on my name badge. I don’t want any weirdos stalking me on Facebook.”

“Can you make coffee?” Derek said.

Allison nudged him with her shoulder. “Nobody here can make coffee. It’s what makes us such an effective team.”

“You hire me,” Lydia said, “Or I’ll personally deliver that totally lame business card of yours to Allison’s aunt, and tell her that you cried while reading _The Fault in Our Stars_. That impresses a PI who can shoot an arrow at a target while blindfolded, right, Allison?”

Allison nodded. “Definitely.”

“Fine. Turn up tomorrow morning. Spare aprons are in the back,” Derek said. He didn’t even make eye contact as he retreated into the back room yet again.

“You’re not mad, are you?” Lydia said quietly once she heard Derek close the door behind him. “I genuinely hate my gig at the library. It’s not as though it’s to spend more time with you. I mean, um. I _like_ spending time with you. I just mean that I’m not one of those creepy girlfriends.”

“G-girlfriends?” Allison blushed, then smiled. “You look really cute when you’re flustered.”

“We hang out, you’re hot, and I want to do a _lot_ more with my lips than kiss you,” Lydia said. “Why _wouldn’t_ we be girlfriends?”

Allison nodded. “We are.” She smiled. “We _really_ are. Um, wow.”

“There’s that smile I love, right there.” Lydia reached into her purse for her compact, and rubbed at her lips a little as she peered into it, shrugging one shoulder. “You know what? Stila should to work on the advertising. This doesn’t stay all morning, let alone all day.”

“You look -- you look beautiful without all that.” Allison shook her head. “You just look _beautiful_.”

“Why Madamoiselle Argent, I didn’t know you were so silver-tongued.” Lydia turned around and used her hands to push herself up onto the counter, swinging herself around and extending her legs, extended further by the high heels she wore. With a grin, she pushed herself off the counter and stood in front of Allison. “You know what happens to smooth talkers?”

“Y-yes?”

“Good things, Allison," Lydia said, tiptoeing up and letting their lips meet again. She reached up to stroke one of Allison’s curls, the hair a little ticklish as it fell against the line of her jaw. “Good things,” she repeated as she pulled away, looking up to Allison as though challenging her to say otherwise.

This time, Allison used her height and strength to her advantage, tilting her head down into the crook of Lydia’s neck and lifting her up onto the counter again, taking a deep breath before placing one hand just above the soft swell of Lydia’s breast, her heart speeding up as Lydia arched her back and moaned, soft and high, looking at Allison like she hung the sun, the moon, and the stars. In that moment, Allison didn’t care that her life still wasn’t perfect and neither were her eyebrows or her wardrobe. She leaned back a little and rubbed her thumb at Lydia’s lip, and simply smiled.

 _Keep on smiling, Allison_ , she told herself as she brushed down her apron and reluctantly gave Lydia a final kiss before settling down for an exciting afternoon of wiping down tables. _You’ve got plenty to smile about_.

_fin_


End file.
